Being Jess Mariano
by Nikki1
Summary: Heroes/Gilmore Girls Crossover! When Nathan Petrelli needs a safe place to stash his targeted younger brother he seeks the aid of his long time friend Luke Danes. Witness protection Stars Hallow style.
1. Chapter 1

So this is kinda weird. It's best defined as an AU of a Heroes AU I've been writing forever with a Gilmore Girls crossover thrown in for fun. :: shakes head :: I hope that's not as confusing as I think it is. Please read and let me know what you think, I've had this idea forever but I'm still wavering between writing out the whole thing or keeping it locked away in my feeble brain. If even just a couple of people are interested I'll probably keep at it.

I know its kinda heavy on Heroes, but keep in mind this is just the prologue-type thing. From here on out is chiefly GG setting. If you have no Heroes background at all (shame on you!) just know that they have super powers. ::shrugs:: I tried to make things pretty clear. Okay! Enough from me, please enjoy!

* * *

Nathan's father had always been his hero. Arthur Petrelli was strength, power and authority disguised beneath an Armani wrapper. A crowded sidewalk would instinctively part before him. One sharp askance look was efficient to silence even his equally stubborn grown son. He had been a grim man, unaffectionate as a husband, a harsh task master as a father, but Nathan loved him.

Now he was dead; one of many casualties of a civil war driven by greed and megalomaniacal appetites.

Arthur had always warned that there could exist no lasting peace when a select group of individuals wield enormously supernatural abilities. Jealousies would naturally arise in such a setting. Those with imagined, assigned or acquisitioned 'power' would always covet the true God-given power of advanced people. Groups of watch dogs within their community were assigned the all-absorbing task of discreetly auditing the federal government for any signs of red flag behavior. They had been prepared for an attack from their elected officials. They hadn't been prepared when a small but potent faction of their own kind turned militant; targeting those they considered threats, those who dared to question their actions and those who were misfortunate enough to get in their way.

As every yin will have its yang, the good guys were swift in forming their own defensive team of advanced and non-advanced folk with Arthur Petrelli at its head; at least, until recently.

Even though Nathan had attended the funeral a mere hour previously, he still couldn't believe that his father was truly gone. As the newly appointed head of the Petrelli household, he knew that he should be welcoming mourners to the reception at their palatial estate alongside his mother, but he had turned coward at the sight of the black mass crowding into his family's home, seeking refuge in his father's office. Arthur would have been ashamed.

He perched on the corner of the historic wooden desk that had been as much a part of Nathan's perception of the elder Petrelli as had been his dry wit and penchant for punctuality. The grieving son released a ragged sign as he lifted a heavy silver frame from the desk top.

Arthur and Angela. It was from a professional photo shoot, as were nearly all the photographs in the Petrelli household. Anything less formal would not have been fitting, not for the Petrellis. Nathan was surprised to see a tiny drop of liquid land on the protective glass, slightly blurring his father's characteristic smirk. It was the only tear Nathan had allowed himself since learning of his father's death.

The whispered tattoo of stiff leather dress shoes on hardwood floor drew his attention to the door. He hadn't heard it open, but there stood his kid brother, looking lost and very young in his new suit.

Nathan placed the photograph in its proper position, then wordlessly extended an arm to the red eyed teenager. Peter was instantly at his brother's side, wrapping his arms around the larger frame. "You abandoned me down there," he murmured into the familiar crook of his big brother's neck.

"Yeah, sorry," Nathan whispered into the mane of gelled hair. They remained entwined for a moment, each offering and receiving the comfort that was unavailable outside of the fraternal relationship. When the moment was right Nathan held his younger brother at arms length. "We need to talk," he said ominously.

"What's going on, Nate?" Peter asked as he stepped backward to seat himself in a chair beside the intimidating walnut desk. He would never presume to sit in his father's beloved leather recliner. Nathan shrugged out of his confining jacket, draping it neatly across the back of a chair. This wasn't going to be pleasant. Peter watched, intrigued, as his brother loosened his tie. He was visibly flustered and Nathan Petrelli was not easily flustered. The unfamiliar nervous movements did not bode well.

"Peter…Pop's death has really opened my eyes," Nathan finally managed to say from his position in front of their father's bookshelf, standing akimbo with his back to Peter. "We thought he was invincible, invulnerable. And now he's dead." He peeked over his shoulder to meet his brother's guarded look."I'll be damned if I'm gonna let the same thing happen to you."

Peter raised a hand, silently asking his brother to stop. "What are you saying here, Nathan?"

"I'm saying you're done," Nathan spat out vehemently. "You're not having anything to do with this war or any of the psychos on either side."

Peter burst out of his seat, his eyes flickering dangerously. "You can't just decide that! If we have any hope of winning, I need to be here, you know it."

"All I know is that you're a target. Too damn powerful for your own good. I'm not gonna sit around and wait for them to find you, Peter."

"So, what, you want me to run away?"

"You're going into hiding."

"Screw that."

"I'm not asking you, kid," Nathan followed his brother to the door, slamming it shut when Peter moved to exit. "Ma agrees. This is for the best."

Peter worked his jaw, tightly clenching and unclenching. "I won't go."

"Don't have a choice."

The teenager smirked mischievously. "Hey, Nate, I can fly, and I have lots of other useful abilities. You can't force me anywhere."

Nathan lowered his head to stare into his brother's hazel eyes. "So you're willing to sacrifice our family so that you can do whatever the hell you want? How very noble of you."

"What are you talking about?" Peter asked, squinting suspiciously.

"Don't be a moron," Nathan scoffed. "What do you think will happen if one of their guys comes here to find you? You think they're just gonna leave everyone else alone? Ma? Heidi? Claire? Baby Monty?" He inwardly cheered as he witnessed his expressive brother's resolve begin to crack and crumble like the worm-eaten façade of a condemned building. He reached out to knead at his brother's slim shoulders. "Me? You know how they operate. Pete," the conflicted teenager looked up, "what's it gonna be?"

Peter averted his eyes from his brother, pained by the plumes of triumph blossoming behind his veneer of concern. "It's like you said, Nathan, I don't have a choice."

He'd do what was necessary to protect his family. He would sacrifice his friends, his identity, everything he'd ever known or loved. He'd hide away in whatever bunker or bomb shelter his brother had chosen for him, biding his time.

He did not, however, have to be happy about it.

* * *

Peter slouched further down into his seat, wallowing in self-pity. If the state of his situation hadn't been poor enough, Nathan had absolutely forbidden the use of any abilities in, around or en route to Podunk, Connecticut so instead of flying or teleporting Peter had been forced onto an old Greyhound. It smelled.

He looked up when the bus driver announced their near proximity to Stars Hallow; the home of Nathan's old friend Luke Danes. Nathan had attempted to tell his brother a bit about Luke and Peter's alias as his nephew.

"Jess Mariano," he had said in Peter's room the night before Peter was to leave. "The real Jess lives with his father in California and even though some of Luke's neighbors know of his nephew's existence, no one's ever met him so it should work out pretty well."

"Fan-tastic," Peter had drawled dispassionately, refusing to look away from his video game. Nathan didn't push him to elaborate. Their relationship had been, to phrase it politely, strained ever since Peter learned of his looming departure.

'_Someday he'll understand_,' he thought as he closed the door behind him. '_I hope_.'

Peter snapped out of his reverie when the cumbersome vehicle lurched to a stop_. Here we go, Petrelli_. He hoisted his brand new army surplus duffle bag to his shoulder. His mother had originally packed his belongings into a matching Louis Vuitton travel set, but to Peter's immense relief, Nathan had rejected the luggage immediately.

"Jess Mariano is just an average kid, Ma, he's not a crusty society brat." Angela had sniffed haughtily at her son's reprimand and sent the maid for "average travelling accoutrement, whatever that may be".

As his fellow travelers filed slowly off the bus, Peter looked through the smudged windows at his new surroundings. One word jumped to the forefront of his mind: Tiny.

His turn arrived to step into the brilliant sunshine. A man in a backwards cap and large flannel shirt greeted him hesitantly. "Jess…"

Peter nodded coolly. "Luke."

They stared awkwardly at one another. Peter wanted his brother.

What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

So…yes, no? I think its fun, I'm excited to have actually written a little of this story that's been running around my mind for ages. I love Jess, Peter and Milo in any form.

Oh, and if you really liked this and want just a bit more back story, feel free to check out my AU Heroes fic, Eighth Grade History. I don't think its necessary though. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, all! Wow, thanks for the amazing response to this story, I so appreciate all the reviews, anonymous and otherwise. This chapter was fun to write, but I feel I must admit something...I'm not a huge GG fan, I'm kind of just a Jess and Luke fan. oops. I really tried to keep all the GG characters as true to life as possible, I hope it works out for everyone.

I really didn't want this story to become "Season 2/3 of Gilmore Girls featuring Peter Petrelli" I think I at least allude to most of the Jess-centric events in these seasons, but ya know, I took some 'artistic liscence' ha! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, please review!

* * *

Having spent quite a while in the quaint town of Stars Hallow, Peter, begrudgingly living under the alias Jess Mariano, could definitively say that it was a very strange place to live; and as a boy who had died twice, read the minds of his entire household, and regularly flew about New York City, he felt justified in considering himself quite the authoring on the matter of strangeness.

For a boy from a city where its possible to live a lifetime in an apartment without ever knowing the family across the hall, it was strange that the average customer in his "Uncle's" diner knew his or her front neighbor, back neighbor, side neighbor and every other which way neighbor with alarming levels of intimacy. They gave each other nicknames like Town Loner, or Town Troubadour or The Guy with the Hat, if someone was new to town and wore a hat. For goodness sake, they held regular town meetings; he hadn't known that people still did that. Strange.

Recalling his fashion plate niece and sister-in-law, it was strange to watch mothers and daughters prancing about it matching garish outfits, holding hands nonetheless. Strange.

To a city dweller, who had been surrounded from birth by the unceasing cacophony of people, cars and commerce, the sheer oppressive volume of silence in a tucked away hamlet could be strangely deafening. Night was the worst, though Luke's stertorous snoring was oddly comforting, his brother also being a hopelessly noisy sleeper, and Peter had taken to playing music to chase away the buzzing silence as he slept. Strange.

Strangest of all was the sheer niceness of nearly all the inhabitants. They cared about one another, helping and supporting their fellow townsfolk as they saw the need. Here existed community in its truest form. Peter would have fit in quite well. Peter was a nice guy. This was a nice town. Too bad he wasn't Peter anymore; his brother had made that painfully clear.

"_Remember, Pete," he had said in parting, "you're not going there to make friends or converts to the 'I Love Peter' fan club, got it? Your Jess back-story is incredibly flimsy, the last thing we need is people trying to get to know too much about you. Keep the information to a very bare minimum. Just, you know, try not to be so friendly. I know how painful that will be for you," he had rolled his eyes dramatically. _

"_Honestly, Nathan, for some reason I'm not feeling too friendly at the moment._

For the first few weeks the combination of homesickness, grief over the loss of his father, anxiety over the safety of his family and the unshakeable paranoia that every seemingly well-meaning inquiry into his life was in fact a covert attempt at exposing his true identity all worked together to make him quite the unpleasant character.

Taylor Doose, the pompous windbag of the town, had been exceptionally easy to dislike, and apparently the feeling had been mutual. Jess was from New York City. New York City was known for being overrun with dangerous criminals. Logically, Jess was a dangerous criminal. If reality hadn't been so very far from the unfounded accusation, Peter might have been upset. Being in actuality the perennial good guy, he found it kind of funny, even when Taylor unkindly filled unsuspecting townspeople's minds with errant rumors of the hooligan and his seedy past. In Peter's mind the old curmudgeon was doing him a favor by spreading the word to stay far away.

As time passed and Peter fell into the comforting arms of Routine, his roaring pain lulled into submission by the previously un-experienced mind-numbing delights of manual labor courtesy of Luke and the diner, he couldn't help himself from, God forbid, beginning to like the people he met around town.

He had to admire Luke, the faux lumberjack hiding a heart of gold behind a bad impression of a tough guy. Who else would have taken in a friend's angst-ridden teenage brother for an indefinite period of time? Peter knew that he hadn't exactly been the easiest houseguest, either. In the beginning he had been morose, unresponsive and insufferably woebegone and the situation hadn't much improved for Luke once the kid actually ventured out of the house. _'Go for a walk, I said,'_ Luke had cursed his bright idea after hanging up with gnome-less Babette, having already fielded an irate Taylor hours before. _'Get out, go explore. Shoulda kept my big mouth shut.'_

Peter had vehemently denied having taken anything from Doose's Market and Luke couldn't help trusting the kid's sincerity. Especially after he did sheepishly admit to the gnome-napping, "But it's not like it looks," he had explained after handing Pierpont over to his host, "I didn't steal it exactly."

"Then what the hell's going on?" Luke paced furiously, praying that he had done the right thing in bringing a thief to the Hallow. "I mean, its not like I'm getting sentimental here, I actually think this is one of the creepiest things I've ever seen, but you can't go around taking other people's stuff, kid!"

"I think I know that," he had muttered defensively, hands forced deeply into his jean pockets. He dropped his eyes to scowl at the larger man's feet. "I was walking around, I saw that the dumb thing was broken, the big pointy hat was cracked off. Brought 'im back here to glue it back on."

Peter's teenage pride could have done without Luke's apparent amusement over the situation, as was evidenced by his smirking, chuckling and his insistence on referring to his guest as "the gnome-doctor". Peter had been relieved when he was released to return the repaired Pierpont to his natural habitat. After all, Babette was neighbors with a certain intriguing young woman…

He hadn't been surprised to run into Rory Gilmore as he made his way across town to the gnome infested lawn of Babette, but when he did he couldn't help cursing his fate that A) his hands were full of contraband gnome and B) she was unfortunately accompanied by her glowering mother.

He couldn't fault Lorelai for her reticence in accepting Jess. His attempts towards unfriendliness had been at their gleaming peak during her thoughtful, though at the time unappreciated, welcoming party. He had tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to chase away their unfortunate porch-side dialogue.

She had tried to be understanding; not even making a scene when she found him slouched against her railing, beer in hand. She had spoken of "knowing what it was like" and "getting it" and "parents who don't understand"; the typical fare of whiney teenagers, but she didn't know him. She didn't know that he had buried his father only days before. She didn't know that he felt abandoned in his grief, cast off by the brother he had always adored. She couldn't appreciate the fear in the knowledge that he could have bid his loved ones his final good byes; the guilt in knowing that while his friends and family continued to fight against their shared enemy, he was safely tucked away in an alien location playing out the clichéd role of bad boy street punk. She knew nothing of his life and yet she had continued to blather on and on from the lofty heights of parental superiority, secure in her trite wisdom. Needless to say, he hadn't responded very kindly. The apex of his surliness had been capped by a snide allusion to her enjoyment of a varied and aggressive sex life with a certain diner owner. Once she had recovered from the unexpected rudeness she had muttered something about a pie, restricted him from any further use of her fridge and stormed back to her house, leaving an immediately penitent Peter in her wake.

Even as he stood on the pavement, facing the confused girl and her irate mother, he was fully aware that he had earned and deserved every barbed glare sharply hurled in his direction. "What the hell are you doing with Pierpont?!" the mother had demanded dramatically, "Somehow I'm guessing Babette didn't lend him to you for your nightly performance of Gnome Theatre."

He wanted to explain away the frostiness in her demeanor, describe the circumstances leading to his possession of Pierpont, and he could have quite easily, but as Lorelai burned holes into his head with the white hot ferocity of her displeasure, he knew that here was a person who would never want to know him. She wouldn't pry into his personal history or sit him down over a cup of coffee and force him to spill his soul. Wasn't that what Nathan had wanted? Anonymity was an effective deterrent to secret sharing, but out right hatred had to be even better. So instead of explaining what a thoughtful young man he had been in repairing the ailing gnome, he simply rolled his eyes and dryly confirmed her suspicions, "What can I say? I can't deny his gnome-like wiles."

She had torn the grinning pigmy creature from the boy's hands with a grunt, murmuring soothingly to the cradled figure as she crossed to her neighbor's yard. Rory, meanwhile, watched him with those alarmingly blue eyes so like those of his brother's wife. He would have expected to see condemnation in her open, lovely expression, but he didn't. Instead there was the delight of discovery tempered by a dash of growing enlightenment.

"What?" he asked gruffly, propping his collar up against the cool night. "Aren't you supposed to storm off together?"

She continued to watch him evenly, a small smile beginning to play about her lips.

"What?!" he asked once more, uncomfortable with the warmth spreading through his body at the emergence of that teensy smile.

Lorelai rushed pass the staring pair, informing Jess that "Not only is my fridge off limits but so is Babette's lawn, hoodlum" before tossing her daughter a significant look and sauntering in to their home.

Rory's eyes never left the boy in front of her. "When I left for school this morning Pierpont's hat was broken," she stated slyly, enjoying the uncharacteristic blush setting Jess' ears aglow. "Now it isn't."

Peter scowled, doing his best to remain aloof. "What are you accusing me of, Gilmore?"

"Fixing Pierpont," she grinned. "I'm starting to believe you're not as tough as you want everyone to believe you are.

"That's ridiculous," he muttered jocularly, turning away from the girl with feigned disgust. "I don't have to stand here and take this slander."

Rory chortled as the retreating figure swaggered off into the darkness. "See ya later, Dodger," she shouted after him, ignoring her mother's scowling face in the front window.

He spun on his heel at the odd farewell. "Dodger?"

"Figure it out," she challenged him, taking her turn to blushingly whirl away, entirely too pleased with the conversation for a girl who was very much taken, as Dean's bracelet constantly reminded her.

He watched her walk up the path to her front door before shouting out "Oliver Twist!" at her back. The pleased smile that was his reward was almost enough to negate the flare of pain in his chest at the mention of that particular Dickens novel; a first addition of that book had been one of his father's prized possessions. Arthur had known how much Peter valued that tome; the old man he had willed it to Nathan. Rory's smile may have been a comforting balm, but still he nursed the freshly opened wound as he walked across town to a cramped apartment which smelled of yeast and stale French fries and crawled between the sheets of a bed that was not his, allowing hot tears to dampen his borrowed pillow as he silently grieved for the life he had lost and the father he had never truly known.

* * *

Peter quickly fell into a comfortable behavioral pattern. He was the town hoodlum. He was short to the point of being painfully brusque with the majority of the town's denizens, reserving the bulk of his regard for the ever enchanting Rory Gilmore and his bumbling 'uncle'.

Jess would pull a prank or say something rude, the victim (usually Taylor) would complain to Luke, Rory would scold Jess, Peter would find some way of making up the trouble to Luke. His piece de resistance had been the faux murder scene. He found it unendingly amusing that the town had been in an uproar over something so inconsequential. Rory claimed it wasn't funny, but he could tell she had been fighting a grin. He had fixed Luke's toaster in apology for the complaints against his alleged nephew; it had been a simple matter of touching the broken appliance thanks to his encounter with a kid named Micah. He hadn't remembered until afterward that he wasn't supposed to use his abilities.

Rory and Jess were becoming increasingly fast friends, though sexual tension on both sides belied the teenagers' attempts at remaining purely platonic. They had the same tastes in literature, music and movies, they hated the same things, appreciated the same movements. He respected her capacity for original thought, especially once he discovered her enrollment in a private prep school; from her war stories it seemed exactly like his Academy back home. He knew the type of girl those society breeding grounds were apt to produce and it was no Rory Gilmore, with her vibrancy and spunky innocence, eyes wide in wonder as if ever new dawn was a beautiful surprise. He felt bewitched, bothered and bewildered every morning she flounced into the diner demanding her coffee. He went out of his way to casually run into her. He had purposefully drawn back from the crowd during the Christmas sleigh rides so that he could discreetly join her. He had directly disobeyed Nathan's ban on abilities to melt her rivals in the snowman competition. If Luke had suggested anyone else for the task of tutoring the failing student he would have refused. As the facts stood he most readily agreed to the experiment.

He had brought her a bright red apple and he had cleverly evaded anything closely resembling actual work. It was obvious to the empathic young man that the diligent student was severely torn between scolding him for being off task and throwing her pencil over her shoulder and joining him in his witty ramblings.

"Jess," she finally slammed a heavy text book shut, struggling with the laughter threatening to shatter her solemn scholastic dignity. "Can I ask you a question?" She didn't wait for a reply, he was quickly learning that Gilmores rarely waited. "Why do you do this? Why are you, of all people, failing? You're probably one of the smartest people in that school…"

He sighed as he heard the echoes of a thousand parent/teacher conferences chiming in on her theme. _'Peter is a very intelligent boy…' _

'…_needs to stop day dreaming.'_

'_Constantly staring out the window…'_

'_He was tardy three times last week…'_

'_Absences are really building up, Mrs. Petrelli.'_

'…_if only he could apply himself…'_

Peter had never enjoyed school, not from his earliest years. The mind-numbing memorization of facts, the teachers' with their apparent repugnance towards anything new or exciting, the established social hierarchy amongst the students…it was no more than years and years of exercise in pointlessness. At home his parents had ensured that he received his daily dose of the mundane by, quite literally on some occasions, forcing him through the doors of the hallowed halls. Here, however, he felt no aversion to ditching a class, or an entire day if the mood struck him. What did it matter anyway, he reasoned, it wasn't really his school; he wasn't even enrolled under his legal name.

He didn't care about his education, but for some inexplicable reason, she did. Her refulgent eyes glowed beseechingly at him from across the table, willing him to want more for himself, to understand her concern. What's a guy to do when a pretty girl pouts winningly at him? Give in, of course.

"Okay, how about this?" he negotiated, subtly pushing the required reading away from him. "I will bang out this meaningless essay tonight, if," he held up a restraining finger as her face illuminated with tutorial success, "if we go and get ice cream, right now." It had taken some of his best wheedling to convince Rory than an ice cream break was both acceptable and necessary, but she had eventually broken down, her genetic sweet tooth prevailing over her educational attentiveness.

An hour later they found themselves back in her custom made car, Jess at the wheel, music blaring loudly, ice cream freezing their lips and dripping to coat their fingers in a wonderful confectionary mess. Their conversation managed to be light, flirtatious and meaningful all in the same breath, whether they spoke of ice cream and its partner the cone or debated classic vs. contemporary literature. He would look at her out of the corner of his eye while flicking his tongue to catch a wanton dollop of the vanilla treat and she would forget to breathe. She would casually brush a crumb from his jean clad thing and he would have to remind himself that Nathan would kill him if he lost control over his abilities and exploded all because of one skinny teenage girl.

They arrived at an intersection in the middle of town. If they turned left they would be back where their night had begun, if they turned right they could drive on for hours. He like that thought. She was gazing wistfully down the right side of the street, away from the diner. She caught his eyes and sheepishly turned back to the window. Rory wanted him to turn right. He couldn't suppress a smirk from charging across his face at that realization. She wanted to spend more time alone with him, away from parents or guardians or boyfriends. Rory and Jess. Jess and Rory. He liked that. He turned left.

Rory was startled when the car moved opposite of the direction that she had anticipated. Didn't he want to be with her? Had she been reading him entirely incorrectly all these months? She felt flush, sticky and embarrassed over her unfounded and unspoken sense of disappointment.

What Rory failed to realize was that Peter knew full and well exactly how their night would have proceeded had he turned right. They would have enjoyed each other's company as they had the entire evening, the jokes and friendly banter would have continued, until the accident. Jess would swerve to miss an animal, landing Rory in the hospital and her car in the junkyard. Lorelai would blame Luke and the two good friends would be on the outs. He knew because he had prophetically played out the entire event in his dreams every night for the past week. The squeal of the ineffectual breaks, the crush of metal on metal, Rory's cries of terror and pain, these were all hauntingly familiar sounds to Peter. He wouldn't put her through that for all the alone time in the world.

He drove her home in silence, pulling up her driveway with practiced ease. "I could have dropped you off at Luke's," she said to fill the silence, eyes on her anxious digits as they fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt.

"Please, it's a coupla blocks," he retorted, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well. Thanks for the ice cream."

"Thanks for the education, teach," he smiled, daring to look over at her.

She returned the look with more bravado than she truly felt. "I had a lot of fun tonight, Jess." She dropped the pretension to worry her lip. "Too much fun. I had no right to have that much fun. Tell Luke not to pay me."

"I had fun too," he smirked, cutting her off before she could begin to ramble in earnest. "I've never had so much fun studying."

She scoffed loudly. "Maybe because you didn't actually study anything."

Any trace of jocularity melted from his expression as he turned in his seat to face her. "Trust me," his voice hummed huskily, "I was studying something." As soon as the words escaped his mouth he wanted desperately to bite them back. He turned to face front with a groan, dropping his forehead into the palm of his left hand with a dull thwack. "Geeze, I'm sorry, I dunno where that came from…it was so, so stupid…"

"Jess…" he looked up when he felt a delicate hand resting on his shoulder. The she was kissing him. It was soft and innocent but pregnant with the promise of untapped passion yearning for arousal from its 16 years of peaceful slumber. Her lips were pliant and trembling, his hungry yet gentle. This was new, uncharted territory for the young woman, the clenching and tightness throughout her body, the igniting of every nerve ending touched by his wandering hands, the desire to cry and scream and laugh all bombarding her overloaded senses in unison. Dean had never made her feel like this. Dean had never…oh no, Dean…

"Rory?!"

The pair pulled apart as a third voice roared from behind the car, floating easily through their lowered windows. They both simultaneously looked back through the rear window at the nearly comatose boy with a Doose's market apron slung over his shoulder. In her preoccupation with Jess Rory had completely forgotten that Dean had promised to stop by after work. He stood at the edge of the driveway looking pathetically heart broken, mouth agape and shoulders down around his knees.

No one dared to speak, not until Dean slowly shook his head and began to back away from the heartrending scene.

"Dean, wait!" Rory had scrambled out of the car, rushing after her boyfriend, leaving Jess to follow her lead at a much more relaxed pace. He leaned against the car, finding it difficult to watch his rival argue with the girl he loved. Dean's pain was too raw, too palpable for the empath to bear, especially knowing that he had been the cause. Neither boy had to suffer long, Dean apparently didn't have much to say except that it was over, if Rory wanted to be with Jess than she should be with Jess. Peter didn't look up until the extremely tall young man had walked away in aversion, leaving his former girlfriend alone on the pavement with tears pooling in her eyes.

"So…" he said hesitantly, walking up behind the conflicted young woman. She turned, blinking away the guilty tears. Guilt over what, he couldn't help but wonder as he slowly closed the gap between them.

"Hey," she replied, hugging her forearms against her stomach.

"Everything okay?" he asked, knowing that it wasn't.

She shrugged, lifting a corner of her mouth along with her shoulders. "I don't know. I feel bad that it had to happen like that but at the same time…I'm kind of relieved."

"Relieved, huh?" He drew dangerously close to her.

"We were growing apart," she admitted, "It was bound to happen, but he was still always such a nice guy to me, I know you didn't like him, but he is a genuinely good guy and I've been treating him like crap lately and then this just tops it all off…"

"Can I tell you a secret?" He silenced her, reaching out to take one of her hands in his. "Want to know why I've never liked Dean? I was jealous," he whispered conspiratorially into her ear, eliciting a coquettish giggle from the still sniffling girl.

"Jealous over what?" she asked knowingly, taking a teasing step away from the boy with the blazing eyes.

"Oh, I dunno, maybe his job," she reached out to playfully punch his arm, "maybe his girlfriend."

"Well," she stepped back in to brush against Jess, "I'm not his girlfriend anymore."

"Huh, fancy that." He tentatively rested his hands at her hips, relaxing as she leaned into his touch.

"So what do we do now?" She asked breathlessly.

"We could try that kiss again," he suggested mischievously, "My best work always has been done under moonlight."

As he leaned forward to share in their second more fevered kiss, he mentally batted at the pesky concerns nipping at the outer edges of his mind. Was it really fair to become involved in a relationship when he held such an enormous secret? He didn't know how long he would be in town. Rory didn't even know his real name. He was very much living a lie, and now he would be pulling an innocent bystander into the muck and mire of such a life.

Still, it wasn't his choice to live under an assumed identity, lying about his past, present and future on a regular basis. They had told him to pretend to be Jess Mariano, and if Rory Gilmore wanted Jess Mariano, then who was Peter Petrelli to stand in her way.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi, yeah, I'm actually back. So sorry for the long wait…I'm a notoriously bad updater. Very sorry.

Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to review, it means a lot, especially as I am so uncertain in the Gilmore Girls world. I hope this new chapter also meets with your satisfaction.

And, uh, to those of you who will be asking me about my Heroes story (especially 7by7th7sea :) I AM working on it…this chapter just came about with much more ease. Soon, my friends, soon!

And, once again, thanks to you anonymous reviewers I don't get to respond to individually. I truly appreciate it.

Please enjoy!

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Most people, over a matter of years, become so entrenched in routine and so accustomed to belonging to a certain set of situations and realities that they find the prospect of living in any other manner to be not only laughable but utterly daunting. Change is frightening, and yet, adaptation inevitably occurs. A modern, spoiled man upon finding himself stranded away from society will revert to his primal survival skills because he must. A family bowed low by job loss will adjust its lifestyle because it must. Peter was not an exception. Six months into his tour of duty in Stars Hollow the teenager was astonished to realize that he was no longer a stranger in his environment. The once alien land was familiar if not comfortable. Though he continued to most eagerly away any sign of his brother returning for him, he had to admit that there were worse place to be in forced hiding. He had, dare he say it, friends.

Even though, he mused as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror managing his coif, he had far fewer demands placed upon him when he was strictly aloof and noncommittal in his relations with the natives. Instead, he found himself preparing to spend his Friday night in the company of not only his girlfriend, but, unpleasantly enough, with her grandmother as well. Not his idea of a hot date.

"You're gonna be late," Luke called from the base of the staircase, "and believe me, these aren't people who're impressed with the concept of 'fashionably late'."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the teen muttered, giving himself a last onceover before grabbing his jacket and swaggering down the stairs. "Geeze, it's a ghost town in here," he remarked as he pushed aside the fabric partition separating the living quarters from Luke's, empty, diner.

"Yeah," Luke muttered, too involved with his pile of receipts to look up from his spot behind the cash register, "which is, for once, a good thing since you're taking off early. I think if it stays like this I might just close up a couple hours before normal."

"Sounds fair," Peter helped himself to a doughnut from the glass pastry stand, ignoring his 'uncle's' glare. "Just in case the food's inedible," he jokingly explained.

"Well you'll never find out if you don't get there," Luke scolded with an exaggerated glance at his wrist watch. "I'm serious, man, its like I told you, these women come as a package. If you don't make a good first impression…"

"Spare me, Luke," Peter drawled between bites of his pre-dinner snack. "You already gave me the He-Man Rory-Protector speech. I know if I do anything to hurt her you'll come after me with your baseball bat."

"I never said that exactly," Luke declared snippily, "but if the image keeps you from doing anything stupid…"

"Right," Peter snickered. Far from being offended by the gruff man's display of testosterone, he was glad that Rory had someone like Luke in her life to watch out for her; everyone needs someone like him at one time or another. Someone like Nathan. '_Stop it,_' he mentally scolded himself, willing his thoughts far away from the brother he hadn't heard from in half a year. He swallowed hard, turning to push against the door while offering Luke a half hearted good-bye.

"Hey, wait just a minute," Luke's voice stopped him. "How are you getting there?"

Peter cocked a brow at his oblivious friend. "Whoosh," he said, zooming his hand through the air before him.

"No way," Luke cried, waving his hands wildly as if to dispel the very idea from the room. "Un uh, no flying. Nathan made it perfectly clear that you can't use your…stuff."

"Luke, come on," Peter rolled his eyes, "no ones gonna see me. It's not a big deal."

Luke moved in front of his young guest, towering over him with his hands placed firmly at his hips, elbows jutting out sharply from his sides. "Oh yeah, how can you be so sure of that, huh?"

"Maybe because I can become invisible," Peter stated mockingly.

At a loss for words, Luke pursed his lips, resisting the urge to smack the smug look off of the kid's face. "That's beside the point," he finally exploded. "Just take my truck."

"Luke," Peter reached out to rest a hand on the larger man's tense shoulder, "no."

"You're impossible, ya know that?" Luke shouted at the retreating form, receiving a shrug in response. "And you forgot to put the lid back on the stand!"

Already in the doorway, Peter turned on his heel and stretched a hand toward the counter across the room. Concentrating on the glass dome, the face of a similarly gifted school mate flitting briefly through his empathic mind, he lifted it with telekinetic ease. Luke watched with noiseless horror as the object rose into the air. He ran across the room, snatching the cover out of mid-air. "You…can't…do that," he spluttered, casting nervous looks out of the suddenly too abundant windows while he clutched the glass dome to his chest.

Peter laughed as the man ranted. Luke was the kind of guy who grew on you when you least expected, he'd miss him once he went back home. "See you later, Luke. Don't wait up."

Luke looked on as the kid walked out to the sidewalk, cast a surreptitious glance around him…and disappeared completely. He wearily sank into the closest chair, abandoning his crushing hold on the formerly aloft glassware and doffing his ever present cap. "Nathan's gonna owe me big time for this," he swore, running a tired hand through his flattened hair. A street light sputtered to life, casting its sickly glow on the pastry cover. "Big time."

* * *

'_And Luke wanted me to drive_,' Peter smiled as he speedily moved undetected through the sky above the highway. Traffic was backed up for miles and the knowledge that he had escaped the soul crushing experience of grid-lock traffic made his flight all the more pleasant. '_Maybe tonight won't be so bad_,' he thought optimistically as he gracefully landed in the Gilmore's driveway. Rory would be there, which was always a pleasure and, concurrently, Lorelai wouldn't be there, he grinned wryly as he reached for the doorbell. '_Besides, I'm used to these society types_,' he reasoned, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. '_I'm familiar with the eccentricities of these wealthy old biddies, after all mom's one_.'

The door silently opened on well oiled hinges, revealing a glowing Rory Gilmore. "Just in time," she smiled, accepting a brief peck on the lips. "I'm so glad you're here Jess."

_Jess_. Every time she called him Jess he inwardly cringed, hating the reminder that their relationship was built upon an enormous lie. For the second time that evening he found himself pushing away unwelcome thoughts. Rather than dwell on his uncharacteristic untruthfulness, he fell back into what had become a comfortable banter, joke, grope, banter. "What, did you think I would flake?" he asked, feigning hurt. "I'm glad you think so highly of me."

Rory tucked an arm around his slim waist, guiding him toward her waiting grandmother. "I can't deny that the prospect was entirely beyond the realm of possibility."

"You wound me."

"Unlikely."

He dropped the arm that had been slung around her shoulders. "Maybe I should just go back…"

"No way, mister," she tightened her hold on the fleeing boy. "You're here and you're staying."

"Dictator," he murmured into her hair.

As the entwined pair crossed the threshold of the Gilmore's sitting room a smartly dressed older woman rose to greet them. "Ah, Rory this must be your young man."

Peter's heart either leapt into his throat or dropped into his stomach, he wasn't sure where it had wandered but it certainly wasn't at it's proper post when he so desperately needed it. This couldn't be happening. When he had ruminated over his familiarity with wealthy old biddies he had never expected to be met with a woman whose face and voice were too dangerously familiar to Peter for her to be allowed to meet Jess. He cursed his lack of foresight, ironic in a boy with precognitive abilities, as Rory continued with introductions. Of course Rory's grandmother, Mrs. Gilmore, would turn out to be Emily Gilmore, Angela Petrelli's long time friend. His mother and the Gilmore woman weren't exceptionally close, but the two were on good enough terms that Peter had crossed paths with the snarky older woman on several occasions. He had no doubt that she would recognize 'Jess' for who he truly was, given the opportunity. '_Guess I can't give her the opportunity,_' he thought resignedly, grunting shortly in response to Emily's generous welcome, his eyes cast down to the floor. '_Damn it, Rory's gonna hate me._'

"Jess," Rory nudged his side. "My grandmother asked you a question."

"Oh, right, yeah?" He asked awkwardly, hazarding a quick glance at the stern woman.

"I asked if you would like anything to drink."

"No," he bluntly replied, watching Rory's eyes grow round at his mounting anti-social responses.

"Well then," she answered airily, choking on a scalding reprimand in deference to her granddaughter's feelings, "let's adjourn to the dining table, shall we? We wouldn't want the food to needlessly sit."

A bewildered Rory pulled Jess back a few steps. "What is going on?" she hissed lowly. "30 seconds in and you're already being a jerk."

"Maybe I'm trying for the record," an already irritated Jess volleyed back.

"Don't worry, you're a shoe in."

Peter sighed as the fuming girl stomped after her grandmother, debating the merits of simply dashing out the door while the coast was clear. Emily effectively vetoed that fleeting desire by poking her head around the corner and asking if he would be joining them.

The thick cloud of tension making camp around the party of three was in no way lessened by the nervous movements of the newly acquired maid. The trio was eerily silent following Emily's failed attempts at engaging the young man in small talk.

"So Jess, Rory tells me you enjoy literature?"

"Yep."

"And how are you enjoying your new classes? I hope they're not too difficult?"

"Nope."

"Tell me, do you have a car?"

"Nope."

"Are you licensed?"

"Yep."

"Do you plan on purchasing one soon?"

Shrug.

Eventually she abandoned her fruitless pursuits, feeling comfortable that she had done all that was possible to engage the young ruffian. For goodnessakes, the boy absolutely refused to so much as look up from his salad.

All in all, it wasn't shaping up to be a pleasant evening.

Pleasant or no, the wounded evening may have staggered to a much sought after finish line if Emily hadn't asked Jess to pass her a dish. Something in the boy's movement as he rotated in his seat was strangely familiar to her perceptive eyes. He momentarily turned to face her as the uncomfortable sensation of being sharply scrutinized itched at his side. 'I know that face,' she squinted thoughtfully, though her glimpse of his face had been admittedly brief.

"Have we met?" she pointedly asked the scowling boy.

Peter's heart beat wildly against his chest. "Yeah, a few minutes ago."

"Don't be smart," she snapped over Rory's horrified "Jess!" "That's clearly not what I meant."

"Don't know what to tell you," he muttered to the fork he was manipulating to write HELP on the table linen.

She raised an imperial eyebrow at the uncouth young man on her left. "I never forget a face."

"First time for everything."

Rory stood abruptly, tossing her napkin on to the table. "Can I talk to you? Alone?"

"We're in the middle of dinner, Rory. Don't you think you're being rude to your grandmother?"

Rory's eyes flashed as she whirled away from the table, trusting her boyfriend to follow her. Peter would have followed her to hell and back when the alternative meant being alone with Emily Gilmore.

"Why, Jess?" She was clasping her arms to her torso when she turned to face Peter as he entered her grandfather's study. "Why? I don't understand. You get here and you're happy and really nice and joking and the very second you come in contact with another human being you turn into this major ass!"

Peter wanted to explain everything to his visibly upset girlfriend; but, for the safety of his family, he couldn't. She was in tears and he could do nothing to assuage her anger or frustration. He hated feeling helpless. Weak. "Rory, I just-I can't do this now."

"Of course you can't," she laughed humorlessly. "Shutting down and walking away; its what you do, right?"

"This was just a bad day, okay?"

Rory threw her hands in the air. "It's always a bad day Jess! Is this what a relationship with you is like? Just you and me, hidden away from the world, snarling at any signs of human contact? I love my family, you know that, yet every chance you have to develop any type of relationship with them you act like," she paused, staring at the defensive, slouched figure of the scowling boy through glassy eyes, "like someone I don't even know."

The two stared into opposite corners of the room.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Rory all but begged.

Peter didn't know where to begin. "There are so many things I wish I could say," he said softly, allowing his blackguardly pretensions to fall momentarily. He wished his brother was there. He chuckled a hopeless, hollow laugh at the thought. She didn't even know he had a brother. She didn't even know his name. "And I can't say any of it. Not now."

"Maybe you should just go," she whispered, refusing to meet his eye.

He nodded slowly. "Okay," he moved to the door, "Are we okay, Ror, or…"

"I don't know, Jess. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"For what it's worth," he said quietly from the other side of the doorway. "I'm sorry for being a jerk."

* * *

Peter's flight back to the diner was worlds away from the light hearted jaunt of the early evening. His stomach felt leaden, every movement was sluggish and forced. Of all the grandmothers in the world, hers had to be Emily Gilmore. Yet even as he laid the blame for his and Rory's falling out at the expensively shod feet of the Gilmore matriarch, he knew that he was only deluding himself. He had been foolish to hope that he could manage a healthy relationship when doing so meant repeatedly lying and pretending to be someone he wasn't. He harbored few doubts that Rory would care for him as Peter as she had for Jess, but the guilt of such underhandedness was eating away at him.

For the first time in months, he wanted desperately to go home. His entire being cried out for his family and his house, to crawl into his own bed and awaken to the realization that the past night had been nothing but a horribly elaborate dream. Even as this filial desire stewed within him, he trudged into the locked diner, up the dark staircase, fully aware that the bed waiting for him wasn't the one he craved.

Upon entering the apartment he was surprised to find that his bed wasn't the only thing waiting for him. Luke sat at the kitchen table, holding onto consciousness much later than was normal for the obscenely early riser.

"Hey," Peter said in greeting.

"How'd it go?" Luke asked, doing a terrible job of masking his palpable anxiety as he fiddled with the empty beer bottle in his hands.

"Horribly," Peter commented succinctly, deciding he was too tired and emotionally worn to inquire after the reason for the waves of unease radiating off his host. "Turns out Rory's grandmother runs in the same circles as my mom. She almost recognized me."

"That's good, kid," Luke murmured distractedly.

Peter finished pulling a well-worn t-shirt over his head before padding over to join Luke at the table. "What's going on Luke?"

"Huh?" the older man jumped at suddenly seeing the boy in such close proximity. "Uh, nothing. It's nothing, it can wait. Let's just go to bed."

"Luke," Peter insisted, "what is it? I can tell you're lying."

"Of course you can," Luke sighed, resting his face in his hands. "You didn't read today's paper did you?"

Peter blinked in surprise. Generally speaking, he hounded after the paper as soon as he rose from bed, led by his hunger for news on the ongoing battles. Today, for the first time in months, he had completely forgotten.

Taking the kid's silence as his answer, Luke plopped the New York Times on the table in front of him. A smile quickly spread across Peter's face at the headline proclaiming Peace in New York. "They say most of the fighting is over," Luke summarized. "There was a big brawl, the ring leaders of the bad guys were all captured or killed. Its just a matter of rounding up the stragglers who managed to get away."

"This is great news, Luke," Peter laughed. "It's over, we won, my family's safe! I can go home!"

Luke's pervading silence didn't deter Peter's ebullience.

"Not that I won't miss you," he joked as he unfolded the front page, "but don't worry, I can always…come…v…," the sight of a picture bellow the fold stole his breath. He could barely focus his eyes to read the small news print under the beloved face. 'Missing in action…presumed dead…' He might as well have been in a vacuum for all his awareness to everything beyond that newspaper.

He wanted to scream but his voice was paralyzed with numbing disbelief.

He wanted to cry but he hadn't the prepossession to muster tears.

He wanted to throw the odious newspaper, that harbinger of death, as far away as he could but it seemed melded to his sweating palms.

"Nathan?"

* * *

I wouldn't dare, you say? Oh, I would, friends, I would. Read my fic Sibling Rivalry if you think I steer clear of character death he he he. Anyway, I had fun writing it, I hope you had fun reading it. As always, review!


	4. Chapter 4

Long time no see, eh? So sorry about the wait, I know it has been an outrageously long time since my last update and I beg your patience. I wish I could say that I just got lazy or lost interest, but that's unfortunately not the case. They say life imitates art and, well, that doesn't work out so great when you write character death. Just a few days after posting the last chapter I had my own world rocked and shattered by a traumatic personal loss. I think you'll understand that it was hard for me to get back into the swing of this story, especially having to pick up at a chapter that has so many parallels to my real life. Life is not always so grand, my friends. I hope this chapter works out…tried not to go too over board emotionally but it was difficult to reign myself in. Thanks for reading, I hope not too many folks gave up on me and my story!

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Peter had always had a special talent for savoring the small pleasures of life. He regularly stopped to smell the roses, he had done his share of singing in the rain, his eyes were consistently drawn toward the sunny side of the street. His family knew him to be quite the slug-a-bed, prone as he was to lingering in quiet revelry over the pleasant homey warmth of a down and cotton cocoon. The sights, sounds and smells of a home as it yawned into the business of morning were delightful to the young man of simple tastes. This morning, however, as his dry and heavy eyelids cracked open he did not see the cheery sunlight pouring into every corner of the cramped apartment. He did not inhale deeply as the first heady waft of percolating coffee tickled his nose. The thought of snuggling deeper into the welcoming embrace of his tangled blankets could not have been further from his mind.

"Please let it have been a dream," his whispered prayer escaped from between trembling lips. His eyelids snapped shut. "It had to be a dream." For indeed, what danger could ever befall Nathan Petrelli? Handsome, strong, athletic, popular, protective Nathan. He was too big to be brought low, too important to play fodder for a newspaper obituary. What mortal concern could hold at bay the goals and aspirations of a man like his brother? Life could not be so cruel as to cut down such a man in his prime; other people, maybe, but never Nathan.

Yet even as Peter extended a shaking hand to check the date on the wrist watch at his bedside he struggled against the vicious assault of memories; strong, solid, life like memories so very unlike the ephemeral and fleeting qualities of dreams. He wasn't grasping for details or attempting to make sense of conflicting frames of imagery. Everything was painfully clear, down to the feel of newsprint under his fingertips and the coolness of the hardwood floor as he had silently walked across to his bed, ignoring the calls of his guardian. His eyes were comically large; his lips were drawn and tightly clenched as he reluctantly turned the watch's emotionless face to his own.

One glance at the date and the world crashed around him.

The watch fell from limp fingers as dawning horror stole all color from his already pale skin. His breathing became short and hollow, fingers clinging to the short hairs at his temples. "No no no no no," his mantra of disbelief crescendoed as he threw off the suffocating blankets and leapt out of bed, stumbling over books and shoes as he bound over to the table. It was still there, Nathan's grinning face staring blankly at the ceiling.

'_Presumed dead…'_ He steadied himself against the hard edge of the table as the words repeated in a maliciously unending loop, each cycle a heartless punch in the gut, a solid slap in the face. _'Presumed dead…'_ They swooped mockingly about him like eager vultures, biting and clawing until he was emotionally raw and bleeding. He wanted to shout and kick and punch against the roaring wave of pain threatening his thin veneer of composure but grief cannot be cowed or dissuaded. It engulfed him, bowing him to his knees with its crushing intensity. The mask of horrified shock swiftly crumbled as a churning stomach propelled him into the small bathroom, where his body expelled, it seemed, all the food he had ever eaten. '_Dead. Dead? Nathan is dead. Dead?'_ His stomach empty, Peter let his forehead rest on the blessedly cool porcelain rim without a thought to sanitation. He struggled for the word to appropriately describe how he was feeling. Grief-stricken, certainly. Sorrowful. Dissolute. Yet there was something else that entirely escaped definition. For all his years of infatuation with the written word, he couldn't assemble the words to correctly describe his…inability to understand that Nathan was dead. It wasn't denial; it simply did not make sense. The words sounded awkward on his tongue and in his mind: Nathan is dead.

"Oh God," he moaned, scuttling away from the toilet until a slick spot on the tiled floor sent him crashing him onto his back. He chocked back a sob as he slowly curled his upper body into his tented legs, hugging his knees to his heaving chest. He jumped slightly when a large warm arm gently circled his shoulders. Ignoring the instinctual concern warning him against unseen threats from the rear, he allowed the strong arms to press him to the broad expanse of a warm chest. He knew it was Luke, but, dear God how he wished it was Nathan.

He had been running into his brother's open arms from the moment he had gained mobility and the realization that he would never again find the security of that familiar bulwark tore through all thinly constructed blockades against the torrential sobs he had been attempting to hold back in some misguided perception of propriety. The dams broke as he leaned against the substitute shoulder, shedding tears for the man that had been, but more importantly, for the man who would never be.

Luke rubbed his back soothingly and all he could think was that two-year old Monty would never know his father. Would they still feel the heavy absence when the boy started Little League? Would oppressive loss haunt the child through years of science projects and Boy Scout meetings, as he learned to tie a Windsor knot and drive a stick shift?

He was pulled to his feet and he wondered who would walk Claire down the aisle on her wedding day. Who would dance with her in her father's stead?

Luke led him into the dining area and he was plagued with the image of Heidi crying into the pillows of her empty marriage bed, alone with her memories in the silence of her haunted room.

"I know this is difficult," Luke solemnly interrupted his scattered thoughts. "I can't imagine…I mean, I, ya know, lost my parents but his is…" his voice trailed off but Peter understood. It was different. Nathan wasn't old or sickly. He hadn't lived a full life. He was only 30 years old and his death did not relieve him of any profound suffering.

Still, the worst aspect of Nathan's death, the thing that tore out Peter's heart and ground the still pulsing organ at his feet, had nothing to do with the pre-maturity of the event. "It's all my fault," Peter whispered, tormented eyes cast down to the warn tabletop. "I should've been there."

"Hey," Luke harshly objected, thrusting a finger in annoyingly close proximity to Peter's moist nose, "none of this self-deprecating crap, got it? Your brother knew what he was doing when he sent you here. He knew the risks he was taking, but, oh I dunno, I guess he figured protecting his family was worth any consequence. I'm not finished," Luke's arm shout out to pull Peter back into his seat after the teenager had thrown himself away from the table mid-harangue. "Roll your eyes all you want, kiddo, but you're gonna listen to what I have to say. This," he placed a steadying hand on the low hanging shoulder of his companion, "was not your fault."

Peter slowly shook his head side to side, wishing more than anything that he could believe the older man's comforting words. "Do you have any idea what kind of people Nathan was fighting against, Luke?" He asked softly after several long moments of indulging in quiet melancholy. "People who could rip his head off with their bare hands. People who could infect his mind and force him to do horrible things to himself. People who could burn him to death without so much as a flint." He looked up and was glad to see Luke looked as sickened as he felt. His voice cracked as he continued. "Do you know what Nathan can…could…do? He can fly." He snorted humorlessly, colorless lips contorting uncontrollably. "A single bullet could bring him down. He can't heal. He can't shoot lightening from his fingertips. He was defenseless. Do you know what I can do Luke?" He met Luke's eyes with a slightly mad gleam burning out from his own. "Anything." Luke didn't make a move to stop him when he jumped up to pace the short distance from the sofa to the dining table. The boy's volume was as erratic as his movements as he tried desperately to help Luke understand that the blame was all his own. "I can freeze time, shoot beams from my eyes, I…I'm super strong, I can move things with my mind…I can't even remember all the stuff I can do. And where was I, Luke? Was I out there fighting at my brother's side, protecting my family? No. No, I was hiding," he spat out the words with obvious repugnance for his perceived cowardice. He finally stopped his furious movements to hunch over the table next to his now standing friend. "Nathan was putting his life on the line and I was laughing and joking and dating. Damn it!" he exploded loudly, punctuating his passionate outburst with a succession of powerful raps against the smooth wooden surface. "I should've been there."

Luke, either choosing to ignore or genuinely not noticing the generously sized divot in his table, grabbed the nearly hyperventilating boy and gently shook him. "Is your brother an idiot?"

Peter snapped to attention at the mere suggestion of idiocy on his brother's behalf. "What?"

"Is your brother," he enunciated clearly, "an idiot?"

"No," a bewildered and slightly offended Peter vehemently denied, "what the hell are you talking about?"

"I assume he knew all about all the stuff you just told me, right?" The diner owner barely acknowledged Peter's confused nod, choosing to take advantage of the boy's momentarily befuddled state in order to force him onto the low couch. "Knowing everything that he did and being the sharp guy that he's always been, he still made the choice to send you here, Pete."

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Peter mumbled into his cupped hands. Luke's secret gentleness panged at the aching helplessness dripping from the boy's every word. "What do I do now Luke?" he asked in a heartrendingly small voice, wide hazel eyes darting up in the hopes of finding some miniscule source of guidance. Nathan would have had plans, schematics, flow charts already in the words. He'd know exactly what Peter's next step ought to be and there was always a measure of comfort to be had in the knowledge that the decision was out of his hands.

Unfortunately, Luke's thoughtful scratching under the brim of his cap did not produce a similar air of confidence. Neither was the man's hesitant suggestion that Peter attempt to spend a few hours in the diner appreciated by the traumatized young man.

"What does anything matter if Nathan's dead? Food? School? My freakin' identity? Screw it all, Luke. Obviously it was all worth crap anyway 'cause I wasted six months of my life here and Nathan's still dead."

Luke dodged as an errant pile of books flew across the room, riding the waves of Peter's emotional outburst. "I thought you were supposed to be some kinda smart kid, huh Peter? Why d'ya bother reading books all day if you don't even know what the word presumed means?"

Luke's words were unexpected to say the least. The much feared and long dreaded prospect that his brother was anything other than hale and healthy had been so world shattering to the already stressed boy that he had never stopped to consider that the newspaper could be…wrong.

"Just si'down for a second, alright. Stop…hovering, just sit. And listen. Now what I wanna know is what happened to make you give up on your brother. For months all I've been hearing is about how your brother was gonna come back for you any second. Plans for when the war is over. You had something that's a rare commodity these days kiddo. Hope. Faith. Those are hard to come by and once you loose 'em they don't come back so easily. So don't give 'em up if you can help it, lunk head." His expression softened and he laid a comforting hand on the stiff shoulder beside him. "Don't bury your brother until you have to."

Peter's eyes blinked rapidly, an outward manifestation of his inner turbulent cogitations. Luke's words were met with approval by his naturally optimistic leanings, fertilizing that seed of hope that would never truly abandon a character such as Peter though the maddening pressure of ugly truth threatens it at all sides. The stalwart seed bloomed, unfurling its shoots and grasping vines and setting them on a desperate search through the boy's mind for additional sources of hope. "My mom hasn't called," Peter announced robotically, the bulk of his cognitive functions continuing to work at spinning the events of the past day in a positive light. "She-she promised that if anything happened to the family she would call me immediately." A small, tight smile stretched his whit lights, though his eyes didn't echo the expression. "and she hasn't."

"That's good."

"Yeah. And besides, those guys, the opposition, they weren't after blood they wanted money and power, they don't get any of that if Nate's dead but if they took him for ransom or as a bargaining token…"

"That's…possible, I guess."

Peter turned to the older man, arms outstretched plaintively. "He could be out there somewhere, Luke." He leapt to the pile of clothes at his bedside to begin rummaging furiously for something decent. "I need to do something."

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" the exasperated guardian sighed as the boy began tearing about the room, absentmindedly shoving his belongings into his army surplus duffel.

Peter turned to offer Luke a look of unbelief. "You can't honestly expect me to stay here? I'm gonna go find him," he said, thrusting a shirt into the bag with a force that ripped the handle, "and whoever took him, I'm gonna make them pay."

Luke was panicking. He had promised Nathan that Peter would by no means leave the city until he heard from Nathan himself, yet how was he to stop a boy who could easily heft him over a shoulder? "C'mon Peter, think about this. Where are you gonna go? You have no leads, no substantial information. This is crazy. You know the whole needle in a haystack bit? Well, your haystack is made up of billions of people."

"You're right," Peter grudgingly admitted, to Luke's immense relief. "I have to call home, find out what they know." Luke lunged in front of his houseguest, slamming his hand down on the receiver before the boy could reach the device. "What the hell, man?"

"We both gave our word, kid. We promised your brother that you would stay here, without contacting your family, until we hear from him. Directly. I know this is hard for you…"

Peter cut him off with a brusque "Spare me" as he headed for the door.

"What if it's a trap?" Luke nearly shouted, winning Peter's attention. "If someone has your brother, they could be waiting for you to do exactly this, to get caught up in emotions and do something stupid, hand yourself right over to them. What do your family's sacrifices of the past half a year mean if these guys get their hands on you?"

Neither man spoke for a couple minutes; Luke holding his breath and praying that he had sufficiently scared the kid to keep him out of harms way; Peter struggling with the reality that Luke was entirely right. Finally a scowling Peter dropped his hand from the doorjamb and broke the stony silence. "So what do you suggest?" Peter fumed, "should I go about my day pretending that I don't have a brother who may or may not be dead? I can go feel up Rory or make Kirk fall of his stool to avoid looking at me. That would be pretty Jess of me, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not asking you to do any of that, especially the groping bit, got it? But the way I see it you have two choices. You can sit up here and work yourself into a frenzy over what might be or you can go downstairs and numb your mind with thankless, unskilled labor. What'll it be?"

The all knowing wisdom of the teenager is generally hard pressed to admit to reason as presented by an adult, so like all good bratty teens Peter smothered his appreciative acceptance with a heavy layer of sarcasm. He smirked and as he pulled a clean shirt over his head muttered, "Well, Vanna, I think I'll take door number two."

* * *

15 minutes into his voluntary shift and the distracted server was already regretting his choice. Every cheery "Good morning!", every bit of jocose banter set his teeth grinding and forced him to bite back bitter diatribes. As painful as human interaction might have been, scrubbing down tables or working in the kitchen meant that the boy with the figurative knife in his belly was left alone with his thoughts and though Luke had been able to coax that hope to life with his level-headed logic, Peter's traitorous thoughts insisted on wandering down dangerous paths.

'_Are his slippers still in the hallway?_' He thought as he started another pot of coffee.

'_He never took me on that camping trip he always promised.'_

Reminding himself that there was a very real possibility that his brother was alive served little purpose without Luke around to coach him into acceptance.

'_But what if he is…'_

'_What if…'_

"Look alive, Jimmy Dean," a loud voice interrupted his torturous wanderings. The shout gave the absentminded boy just enough time to stop himself from backing into Lorelai Gilmore's lap.

He muttered a grunt of an apology to the young mother, completely ignoring her explanation that Jimmy Dean was the perfect nickname for him because it was a combination of James Dean the rebel and Jimmy Dean the meat product. "You work with meat! Eh, eh? Pretty good, huh?"

"Did you order yet?" was his only response. As he finally went into the kitchen with the girls' orders Rory cast daggers at his retreating form, utterly miffed that her boyfriend wasn't trying to win her over from her obvious silence.

"He didn't even notice that I'm not talking to him," she vented to her mother in a harsh whisper.

"Sweets, this is Jess we're talking about," Lorelai soothed, "the king of the single syllable. He probably thinks you're trying to be more like him and we all know that imitation is the highest form of flattery."

"Not funny," Rory pouted, discreetly watching Jess as he moved about the diner. "He's so frowny today. I wonder if something's going on."

"1) Frowny? And 2) once again, this is Jess. Is frowny was a word, he would always be it."

"You don't know him like I do, mom," Rory disagreed. "Oh, shhh here he comes, act natural."

If Peter wondered why Lorelai was posing dramatically when he walked up to their table by the window, he didn't comment on it. "Here ya go," he said shortly, about to turn away from the table without another word when Rory called out to him.

"So, are we gonna talk later?" she asked awkwardly, wishing her mother wasn't currently watching her so intensely.

"About what?" he asked impatiently.

"About what?" she echoed, a bit too loudly as evidenced by the number of heads that quickly swiveled in their direction. "Um, oh, yeah about last night when you were a major jerk to my grandma. It was like 12 hours ago, Jess, don't play dumb."

Peter clenched his jaw tightly, sending withering glares to the townsfolk watching the argument unfold with eager expectation. "Not a good time, Rory."

"Ror," Lorelai interposed as she saw the look of righteous indignations rising over her daughter's open face. "I'm as big a fan of public scenes as the next girl, but maybe Jess is right. You can talk about it later."

Between his girlfriend's heavy, teary-eyed stare, the fervent whispers of the far too interested crowd and Luke's concerned yet unsure demeanor, Peter had had enough. He cursed loudly, causing some of the more sensitive diners to cluck disapprovingly, and threw his pad and pen down on the counter. "I don't need this right now, Luke," he murmured to the sputtering man. "This, all this crap," motioned toward the general area of the diner, "is the last thing I need right now. I'm outta here, don't follow me."

"Remember what you promised," Luke shouted after him as he stormed around the full tables. "Peter! I swear, this kid…Peter!" To no one's great surprise, a few spare moments after Jess' abrupt departure Rory was setting the door chime jingling as she tore after him.

Luke watched, helpless, from the window as Rory caught up to the overwhelmed boy, tugging his elbow to get his attention. _'Well, at least if Rory's hanging around he's less likely to do anything dangerous,' _he rationalized, '_I hope.'_

"Luke," Loreali appeared at her friend's side, watching their respective teenagers disappear into the trees. "Since when do you call Jess Peter?"

* * *

"I'm supposed to be the one who's mad, Jess!" Rory argued pettishly as she followed him deeper into the wooded area. "You can't just be irrationally mad when it was my grandma who was seriously offended last night, that's not how this thing works, buddy."

"Geeze, Rory, I said last night I was sorry, alright?" he exploded, "I honestly didn't want to hurt your grandma, but right now I'm dealing with something that's so far beyond…" His voice caught in his throat and he leaned his head against the rough bark of a tree in order to compose himself.

Quickly realizing that the situation was more serious than she had thought, Rory stepped up behind the young man, laying a soft hand across his lower back. "Jess? What is it?"

Peter turned around so that he was facing the petite young brunette. His go-to phrase for when the girl got curious "I cant tell you…" was ready on his tongue but the compassion in her eyes, the clear yearning to help a boy she cared for so deeply, stilled it before it could escape.

Sensing his hesitation Rory took his hand in hers, offering comfort even without knowing the source of his pain. "You don't have to tell me everything Jess, just enough so that I can help you. I'm pretty smart, you know."

Peter smiled, and though small, it was genuine. "Yeah I know you are." He sighed. "I just…I got some news this morning. From back home."

"Bad news, I take it?"

"Possibly. I wanted to go home and find out for sure, but Luke doesn't think its such a great idea."

Rory laughed. "Since when do you do what Luke says?"

"Why Rory Gilmore," Peter grinned wolfishly, "Are you encouraging me to directly disregard my uncle?"

The girl shrugged pleasantly, "Mom made the coffee extra strong this morning. I'm feeling quite bold and reckless. And besides," she continued, throwing her arms around the slim shoulders of the boy she knew as Jess, "I can tell that whatever is going on has you really upset. If going to New York is going to fix that, then you should go."

Peter knew that Luke had been correct about going to back home. It wasn't safe. It very likely wouldn't end well. He knew that Rory didn't know all the facts about his situation, and as rational as she was, if she did know the truth she would probably be spouting out warnings along with Luke. Still, she said what he wanted to hear.

"And I'm coming too," she announced, interrupting his musing.

"Rory…" he groaned. He certainly couldn't teleport or even fly if she was tagging along.

"I'm not going to leave you to face this on your own, Jess. Don't start. We can take my car, Luke doesn't even have to know where we are."

She had a good point, but Jess knew it wasn't her logic that half an hour later had them both in the car built by her ex-boyfriend, heading toward the exact place he was banned from going. _'Its those damn blue eyes_,' he mused laughingly as he watched her sing along to mixed tape made by her mother in high school. _'Just like Heidi, one flash of those baby blues and they can get us Petrelli guys to do anyting.'_

Heidi…Nathan…Peter dropped his head against the cool glass on his right. In a few hours he would know his brother's fate one way or another. Every one of Peter's best memories, every milestone or achievement, featured Nathan. Images flashed through his mind as swiftly as the telephone poles they passed on the highway. Peter's 8th birthday when Nathan bought him a bike and then dedicated every free moment for the next week to teaching him to ride. Vacations at the Cape, swimming together through the cold waters. Flying together, so free, so blissful. Huddling together over their father's open casket; but no, the overly made up corpse lying in the silk lined casket wasn't their father. It was Nathan, a cold and lifeless shell of the man he had once been, waxen faced and just as neatly dressed as he always had been in life.

He sat up with a start, happily surprised to find the haunting image gone. They were parked at a gas station, a small four pump concern attached to an incongruously busy restaurant. He stepped out to stretch his legs, assuming Rory had stopped in for snacks or to use the restroom. He was glad to see he was correct when Rory walked out from behind a dingy door with a nauseated grimace. _YUCK_, she mouthed to the freshly napped young man from across the pavement, gingerly holding the key at an arms length away. He was busy chuckling at his prissy girlfriend as she went to return the delightful object when a man on a cell phone caught his eye. He was standing a few car lengths away, but the short wavy hair, the set of the shoulders, even the way he held his phone unnaturally high…there was only one man who talked on the phone like that. He was afraid to hope, but…he caught a glimpse of the man's side profile and a grin broke out across his face. Aviator sunglasses, just like the kind his brother so liked to wear. They were just a little under an hour away from Stars Hallow, it made perfect sense, he was probably on his way to reclaim Peter. "Nathan," he whispered, his mouth dry with excitement. He started walking over but broke into a jog as he drew closer. "Nathan," he called happily. "Nate!" A hand on the broad shoulder made the man turn, but as he did Peter choked on his bubbling laughter. It wasn't his brother. Not even close.

He shook his head slowly and walked away, feeling foolish and embarrassed but most overwhelmingly disappointed. For a moment he felt conclusively that his brother was alive, that he was within his grasp, solid and real. But he wasn't. It wasn't him. The image of his brother's corpse took it's place. It was everywhere he looked, everything he saw.

"Jess…" a quiet voice spoke into his ear, a small hand tucked under his arm, steering him gently towards their car. "Are you…"

"Just drive," he wearily drawled, "Please, Ror, just drive."

Peter would have bet that his day couldn't possibly get any worse, and yet not ten minutes later, when Rory's car suddenly lurched to a stop and refused to start up despite her most endearing coaxing, he discovered that he was wrong. "Well, at least we're not too far away from that gas station," Rory said brightly, "I can't believe I didn't bring a cell phone, but I'm sure we can find a phone there. I'll call my mom to pick us up, and she can warn Luke too." Peter remained quiet, as he had been since the encounter at the gas station. Rory didn't understand what had happened, she saw Jess run up to the stranger but when he saw the man's face, well she had never seen the boy look like that. He looked like he had just lost his best friend in the whole world.

"So…do you think that's what we should do, Jess? Or should we call a tow truck straight off? I mean, I don't have any money but I'm sure my mom can arrange something…" The pair had gotten out of the car and were backtracking their steps on foot.

"You should call your mom and have her pick you up," the boy suddenly spoke, turning to look at her with eyes that spoke of loss and resignation. "I shouldn't have dragged you out here." He grew quiet. "So yeah, call Lorelai. Wait for her at the station."

"And you'll be…"

"Maybe you'll think it's strange but…I just feel like walking."

"All the way back to Stars Hallow?" she asked incredulously, testing his temperature with the back of her hand. "Are you sick or just crazy? That will take hours."

He smirked, a comforting bit of familiarity for the girl who was growing increasingly concerned for her still mysterious companion. "I'm…well I'm not okay and I'm not fine, but I am healthy and sane. I dunno, I just really feel like I want to walk. To just…think."

He felt her delicate hand slide into his and he knew that if he was walking, so was she, even though she hated exercise and the sun made her freckle. A sudden rush of appreciation, and perhaps not quite love but something exceptionally close to it, filled him completely, momentarily dulling the sharp pain of the ever-growing certainty that he wouldn't be seeing his brother again. "I'm really sorry, Rory," he said suddenly, twining an arm around her shoulders. "For everything I've ever done that I haven't been able to share or explain to you. You deserve better."

She reached up to press a soft kiss against his pliant mouth, "Lets not talk. I think you were right. Let's just walk."

* * *

It was indeed several hours before the pair dragged their weary, exhausted bodies back into the familiar streets of their hamlet. The day had been cool and over cast, the highway almost entirely empty. Neither regretted their decision not to call for parental assistance, but then they hadn't faced the adults in their lives yet.

"Well, at least we had this time together, 'cause somehow I don't think mom will be too keen on us seeing each other for a while," Rory predicted as Jess walked her up to her house.

"You think it'll help if I tell her that it was all your idea?" Peter suggested jokingly.

"Like she'd believe that."

"It's true!"

"Entirely beside the point."

The couple had been prepared to fend off an outraged Lorelai the moment she caught whiff of her daughter back in town, but their expectations had been thus far disappointed. Even as Rory peeked into the rooms of her house, she remained un-assaulted by motherly concern. "I think I'm feeling a bit neglected," she remarked snarkily.

"She's probably sitting with Luke, forcing him to listen to her ranting and raving…poor Luke, now I really feel guilty." He easily dodged her badly aimed mock-punch.

"That's my mother, Artful Dodger."

"My apologies, Fagin, sir," he said as they walked across town to his temporary home.

"I told you not to call me Fagin," she admonished with a sharp poke in the boy's side.

"Hey you earned that moniker today, you evil mastermind. Corrupting this humble youth for your own gain." The pair laughed quietly as they drew near the diner, not noticing how unusually empty it was, especially for a Saturday evening. The small brass bell tolled as they walked through the door, fully aware that two very unhappy people were undoubtedly awaiting their arrival. In the same moment that the young couple breezed through the front door Lorelai stepped through the curtains that portioned Luke's apartment.

"They're here," Lorelai shouted up the stairs, a strange mixture of anticipation and surprise upon her face.

"How mad are you right now?" Rory asked with a grimace.

"Oh plenty mad," the older woman said, though she certainly didn't appear to be suppressing any violent desires. She didn't have time to elaborate before Luke also stepped out from the hanging partition.

"Luke, I can explain all this," Peter began, but he was interrupted when Luke raised a silencing hand, a strange smile twisting his lips. Luke stepped away to join Lorelai behind the counter, making room for a third figure, approximately Luke's size and girth, to step into the dining room. He had the same wavy hair and severe set to his shoulders that had so confused Peter only hours ago. The clothes were a bit worn and he didn't have his favorite sunglasses, but that face…it had been one of the first sights to welcome him into the world, it meant security and safety. Those hands had steadied him as took his first toddling steps. There was no mistake, he was sure; but was it real?

"Am I dreaming?" he asked, chin trembling with suppressed emotion, not daring to move lest the image shatter like so many broken window panes. "Are you really here, are you alive?"

"Pete," he called in a voice that was deep and resonating and entirely Nathan. He opened his arms and Peter rushed into that familiar spot, burrowing his face into the crook of his brother's neck, praying that if it was a dream may he never wake up.

* * *

I really tried to edit this but I stayed up way to late doing this because if I didn't I don't know if it would ever get done hehehe so I'm sure I missed some. Please review, let me know what you think  And hey, this was a pretty long chapter, don't you think? That deserves a review, no? hehehe thanks for reading


	5. Chapter 5

Ahhh sorry for another long wait. I'm a horrible fan fic writer. My many apologies, friends. So, we're drawing to a close, I think this is the second to the last chapter, I have one more planned. I'm personally really happy with how this chapter turned out…but maybe not everyone will feel similarly :: winces :: You'll see what I mean. Thanks for reading, please enjoy!

* * *

When Peter was four years old he had been enrolled in a prestigious and therefore dubiously rigorous preschool program which he had very much hated. He hated leaving his home and his toys and his mother, though he took some consolation in the fact that he went to school 'just like Nate'. During his first day, having discovered that the toys were too dull, playtime too short and the children too mean, he decided to leave, assuring himself that he could certainly find his way home. He couldn't, and after two hours of fruitless wandering with only his very short legs for transportation, his plastic Superman backpack growing heavier with every block, he sat down to cry his despair at the certainty of never finding his mother again.

It had been Nathan who found the frightened child, effectively and forever solidifying the older boy's role as hero and protector in his kid brother's eyes. Years later, as he stood in the small town diner, Nathan was amazed to find that the now teenaged Peter could cling to him with the same intensity of relief as he had as a lost little boy. He cradled the boy's head against the breadth of his shoulder, sending a grateful grin to Luke as he noisily ushered the bewildered and indignantly sputtering Gilmore's up into his apartment.

All was well with the world. His family was safe and would soon be reunited. Peter had managed to stay hidden without causing any apparent irreparable damage to the town or its inhabitants. "Everything's okay now, Pete," he had just murmured reassuringly, when he felt the teen begin to stir against him. Nathan was understandably shocked to feel his brother pull away from him and push at his shoulders with a sharp jab that sent him stumbling against the counter behind him.

"Like hell it is," Peter scowled, his red-rimmed eyes somewhat tempering the ferocity in his angry words. "Do you have _any_ idea what this has been like for me? I thought you were dead," he spat out the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Right, because you've never put me through anything like that," Nathan scoffed as he watched Peter lurch over to stare out the streak-free window, making a concerted effort to face away from his older brother. "No, wait, weren't you that dumb kid who threw himself off his school building when he was seven in an attempt to prove he could fly?"

Peter rolled his eyes at his brother's attempted sarcasm, though he couldn't suppress a quick smirk. "So isn't the same."

"You only say that because you weren't the one being told that your baby brother had plummeted several stories. Pete…" The younger boy's scowl was beginning to soften as his brother reached out to turn him around. He allowed himself to be thusly maneuvered; the firm grasp on his shoulder a very welcome reminder that his brother was whole, well and in Stars Hallow. "I-I don't want to fight with you right now, man." A beat. "I missed you Peter." Any lingering animosity melted away when Peter's hazel eyes locked onto those of his brother; their open, undisguised honest emotion a rarity and a delight. No false, glassy politically dictated gentility or stony disinterest met the teenager's own aching gaze. For once, he was just Nathan, no strings attached.

Lips trembling slightly, he stepped into his brother's embrace once more, murmuring "Missed you too Nate" into the very shoulder he had only that morning despaired of never seeing again.

"Sorry I left you here so long," Nathan mumbled into his brother's messy curls, a peal of laughter at the absurdity of the situation rumbling in his chest. " I swear I never meant for you to be hiding out for six months. Ya know, Claire didn't talk to me for almost a week after a month had gone by and I wouldn't bring you home."

Peter stepped away from his brother's embrace, chuckling at the image of his easily riled niece facing off against her imposing father. "It wasn't all that bad," he smirked, shrugging and cocking his head, a move his brother easily recognized.

"I noticed," Nathan smirked devilishly, stretching out a hand to playfully ruffle his brother's highly moussed hair, laughing outright as his hands reflexively bounced up to defend his coiffure.

"Easy…" the younger boy drawled, following his brother to a corner table.

"So what's her name?" Nathan eyed his blushing brother knowingly.

"Ah, geeze man," Peter groaned in true fashion of the much teased younger brother.

"Come on, since when do you get so embarrassed? She's a very pretty girl, Pete."

"Yeah," Peter smiled softly, entertaining his brother with the faraway look that was quickly creeping over his visage. Considering the fact that Rory had been a major presence in his life for the past six months, Peter was disturbed to find that he didn't want to talk about her. As overjoyed as he was to see his brother, Peter knew he had simultaneously reached a pivotal point in his relationship with his girlfriend. '_No,'_ he reminded himself somewhat caustically, _' Jess' girlfriend.'_ His worlds would have to collide at some point, but he was willing to ignore the looming reality for as long as possible. "Yeah, she's beautiful. Her eyes are like Heidi's."

"I noticed that too," Nathan smirked wickedly, well aware that his brother had long harbored a harmless crush on his wife.

"How is everyone?" Peter asked eagerly, hungry for news of the family he had left in a precarious situation half a year past. "Mom, Heidi, the kids?"

While Nathan assured his brother that their relatives were all safe and missing him desperately, in the above diner apartment Luke was busy shooing two nosy Gilmore's away from the cracks in the doorframe that might allow in a stray word of dialogue not meant for their ears.

"Come on, Captain Buzz-Kill," Lorelai whined as she and her offspring were forcefully ushered to Luke's low sofa. "Don't you know we Gilmore's live off of three things? Bad food, bad movies and juicy gossip."

"You forgot really great shoes," Rory chimed in.

"Hah, I did not forget. That simply goes without saying," she exclaimed, slumping into the seat.

"But really, Luke, what's going on?" Rory pleaded, turning her wide, vivid eyes trained on the pacing man in front of them.

"Yeah, that's her boyfriend down there, she deserves to know," Lorelai announced smugly, "and as the mother of his girlfriend I deserve to listen in while you dish."

"Would you just stop?" Luke begged, rubbing a weary hand over his stubbled jaw and dragging his rumpled cap from atop his head. "It isn't my place to say anything."

"Ah ha, so you do admit that there is a something that it isn't your place to tell us."

"You're crazy," he muttered, cursing his luck that the elder Gilmore girl had happened to be at the diner pumping him for information on Rory's whereabouts when Nathan showed up. He grimaced as he mistakenly dared to look at Rory. Lorelai may have been curious for curiosity's sake, but any idiot could see that Rory was genuinely concerned.

"Just…is everything okay?" she asked anxiously, winding a long strand of hair around nervous fingers.

Observing that her daughter was in need, Lorelai quickly swooped her into a warm one-armed hug. "Hey sweets, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," she soothed, giving the girl an extra squeeze, " that guy was probably just his parole officer or drug dealer or something."

"Well played," Rory nodded her head slowly, a small smile playing about her lips.

Three heads snapped to attention when the door quietly creaked open, revealing the object of their concern/curiosity.

"Hey," Peter offered awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with his hands as he felt the weight of their combined stares boring into him. He forced his gaze away from the longhaired girl wrapped in her mother's arms, focusing on his host instead. "Nathan went to find a hotel or something."

"He didn't have to do that," Luke declared hospitably. "I have plenty of room…"

Peter waved away the kind offer. "No, no he's right. You've done more than enough already." Awkward silence; Peter cleared his throat and shoved his twitchy hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. " Uh, Rory, can we talk?" He winced at the insufficiency of his words, wishing he could do more to smooth away the worry lines marring her normally clear brow.

The scant minutes of painful silence it took for the pair to descend the stairs and make their way into the brisk night air seemed longer to Peter than the entire time he had spent in Stars Hallow. "Do you want to go to the bridge?" he asked, finally disrupting the uncomfortable quiet.

"I'd rather not," she answered quickly, her voice unwavering despite her turbulent emotions. "I really like that bridge and somehow I don't think this is going to be a great conversation so I'd rather not associate the two right now, thanks."

"Okay," he quickly appeased, "Should we…"

"Just spit it out, Jess," she demanded, twirling around so that she stood in his path. "The mysterious bad boy shtick really works for you but everything has its limits, you know."

"Fine, fine," he said defensively, combing a hand through his thick mass of dark hair. "Geeze. I don't even know where to start."

"How about the guy you were hugging at Luke's?" she deadpanned, following Jess to sit in the gazebo and watching him struggle for an answer as he leaned his back against the railing. "Just tell me the truth…"

"That would definitely be something novel," he grunted acerbically. "The truth is that his name is Nathan and he's my brother. This morning I heard a rumor that he was dead, which is why I was such a basket case all day."

Rory eyed him suspiciously. "Your brother," she echoed, frowning. "You've never mentioned a brother."

"I know and I can explain…"

"Is your mom even old enough to have a son in, what, his late twenties, early thirties?"

"What do you…of course she is."

"I thought she was Luke's _younger _sister."

"Listen, Rory," Peter moved to sit by the confused girl on the bench, his hands outstretched as if beseeching her to understand. "My mom isn't Luke's sister; younger, older or twin."

"Jess," she blinked rapidly, "what do you mean?"

"That's just it," he erupted, leaping to his feet, "I'm not Jess and Luke isn't my uncle. Six months ago I had never heard of Jess Mariano or Luke Danes or Stars Hallow, none of it! My name is Peter," he sighed happily, feeling a rush of relief at finally exposing himself for who he truly was, stripping away all falsehoods and pretensions. "Peter Petrelli."

Rory stared blankly back at him. "Your name is Peter Petrelli."

"Yes," he affirmed, sinking back beside her.

"You're not Jess Mariano."

"Never have been, no."

"Luke isn't your uncle."

"A very nice guy but no blood relation."

She watched her companion carefully for a moment before exhaling sharply and storming off in the direction of her home.

"Rory," a stunned Peter shouted and store off after her, "what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" she asked, thoroughly astonished at his, in her opinion, silly question. "When are you ever going to be honest with me, Jess? First you were just evasive but now you're flat out lying to me!"

"I'm not lying."

"Oh no, Peter Petrelli?" she mocked. "What, was Johnny Johnson too obviously fake? Mike Michaels already taken? Give me a little credit, Jess, Peter Petrelli has to be the most ridiculous name I've ever heard."

Peter wasn't sure whether he should laugh or be offended. "Well you can blame my parents for that because its what they named me."

"Oh please," she continued walking away, shouting, "Don't follow me, Jess," over her shoulder.

A moment later a soft swooshing sound forced her to look up only to find one of the most shocking sights of her young life. "I told you, I'm not Jess," Peter smiled crookedly, his crazy hair tossed by the light breeze as he hung in unaided suspension some twenty feet over the girl below him. She gasped as Peter gracefully lowered himself to the ground, his feet making the slightest tapping noises as gravity reassumed its hold on the fly-boy.

"Well?" he asked hopefully.

"You can fly," she managed to splutter. "You're advanced?"

"Pretty much," he laughed pleasantly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" the reeling girl groped behind her for a tree or strong pole that could support her weight.

"That was the problem, I couldn't, Ror," He explained earnestly. "My ability is…unique and when my family realized that I was targeted because of it they decided I should go into hiding until all the insanity with the war and fighting wore itself out; part of the deal was a false identity and everything."

"So you really aren't Jess?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head softly, aware that the influx of information was bound to be overwhelming and hoping beyond reason that she would be able to accept reality and move on together.

"Why Luke, why here?"

"Luke and my brother are old friends," he shrugged, "and this place is so obscure it seemed like the perfect place."

She stepped away from the young man who had suddenly become a stranger to her; never before had she been so unsure, confused, lost. "If what you're saying right now is true, it means that everything you've ever told me is a lie."

"That isn't fair, Rory, I didn't have a choice," he exclaimed defensively.

"There's always a choice, Je-whoever you are!"

"Peter. It's Peter and everything I did was to protect my family, not to hurt you." He tried to move close enough to get an arm around her but every evasive step sent a clear message. "You have no idea how much it killed me every time you called me Jess."

"And how do you think it feels knowing that every day for the past six months you've looked me in the eye and lied right to my face?" Her voice cracked, making a way for the tears that had been threatening her composure. "I don't know you," she hiccupped dejectedly through her tears as Peter watched on helplessly. "You're not Jess and-and I think I might have loved Jess."

"Everything that mattered between us was real, Rory and you know it," he argued emphatically, his breath catching in his throat at her near confession of love, "Deep down you know it's true."

"Family, friends, where you come from, talents, abilities, none of that matters? That is who you are. You've kept so many important things hidden from me and all that I do know is what you're not."

"Rory," he pleaded, taking one lone step in her direction.

"No," she backed away, "no, I can't do this. Please, just leave me alone." She turned and ran, leaving the stricken teen behind. She looked back after fleeing a distance of a few yards and her heart pulled at the crestfallen expression gracing the face that had come to be so familiar to her. "Will you be here tomorrow?" she shouted, just able to make out the subtle nod he offered in response. "I'll talk to you then."

As he watched her run recklessly across the town and away from him, he tried to tell himself that it had been inevitable, that he had no right to be surprised that her reaction was less than glowing. Unfortunately rationalization didn't make the pain any easier to bear. He trudged up into Luke's, hardly acknowledging the adults sitting around the kitchen table before stumbling into bed fully clothed. Moments later, following a quiet murmur of voices from across the room, the edge of his bed dipped down as a familiar presence joined him.

"Didn't go so well, I take it?" Nathan asked in his low, gravelly voice.

"Definite understatement," Peter shifted onto his back so that he could face his brother. "She cried, called me a liar, said she doesn't know who I am and ran away from me as fast as if I was an escapee from Molokai."

"I'm sorry, Pete," Nathan commiserated, laying a comfortingly heavy hand on his brother's leg. "This is exactly the kind of stuff I was trying to prevent from happening when I told you not to get too friendly with anyone. If you had just listened…"

Peter groaned and rolled onto his side, reminding himself to just be glad that his brother was alive. "Spare me the sanctimonious big brother speech, okay? Not now."

"Okay, okay, message received." Nathan watched the play of emotions struggle across his brother's expressive countenance, wishing there was something he could do to solve Peter's problems as he had when he was a child, but knowing that there wasn't. "Look, Pete," he reached over to tug off the boy's well worn sneakers, "if this girl is meant to be yours then she'll realize that no matter what your name is you're what she wants." He grimaced as he threw the unlaced shoes into a pile of detritus on the floor.

"And if she doesn't?"

Nathan paused to search for the correct response. "Then you move on, grateful for the time you had with her and try to learn something from the experience."

"Can't I just mess with her mind, make her forget she ever knew me as Jess?" Peter joked wistfully, dodging a well-aimed blow from his brother.

"Cheeky bastard," Nathan chuckled as he stood. "Go to sleep already. Tomorrow's a big day and you have to start out by cleaning up this pig sty."

"It's not that bad," Peter refuted, sitting up to admire his chaotic surroundings.

"Oh, I can't wait to hear all about your stay, I'm sure Luke will be highly enlightening."

"Have I ever told you that Luke is also a habitual liar? Most people in this town are, especially the principal."

"Go to sleep, Peter."  


* * *

As she and her mother walked across town to Luke's for breakfast the next morning Rory was so distracted by practicing what she would say to Jess/Peter, as Lorelai insisted upon calling him, that she walked firstly into a parked car, secondly into Taylor Doose, and very narrowly missed a tree. She followed her mother into the diner, attempting to use her as a shield lest Jess happened to be standing about. Fortunately for Rory he was nowhere to be seen because her attempts at covert maneuvering were more prone to drawing attention than diminishing it.

"So, where's our surly Jason Bourne?" Lorelai asked when Luke arrived for their order.

"Very funny," he responded stoically. "Remind me how funny it was tomorrow, I'll schedule a chortle."

"I can't believe you knew all along but never told us. Us! Your favorite customers. I'm crushed."

"None of my business to tell," he replied shortly, scribbling down their typically large orders as the door opened and ushered in the elder Petrelli.

"Luke," the stern faced lawyer barked harshly, "where is he?"

"Last I saw he was upstairs cleaning up his junk like you told him to." Just as Nathan was striding across the nearly empty diner Peter clattered down the staircase.

"What?" he asked nervously upon meeting his seething brother.

"Guess who I just spoke with?" Nathan replied, tensing his jaw ominously.

"I dunno, give me a hint, is it animal, vegetable or mineral?" Peter answered with typical Jess snarkiness.

"Save the smart aleck crap from someone who's easily impressed," Nathan scolded bitingly, slapping a thick folder onto a nearby table. "This is your school record. You want to explain anything?"

Peter cocked his eyebrows in mock innocence, raising his shoulders dramatically, "What's to explain?"

Nathan eyed his brother darkly, commanding him to sit down in the authoritative tone Peter knew well enough not to disobey. He exhaled sharply as he thumped onto the cracking plastic of the diner chair, trying desperately to ignore the chuckling trio by the window, though their amusement at the unexpected turn of events was difficult to overlook; especially when he overheard Lorelai thanking Luke for breakfast with a show.

"Skipping entire days of school without so much as a forged excuse, flunking all your classes, you've turned in almost no work…what the hell, Peter?"

"I didn't think it mattered," Peter exclaimed, "I was here as Jess, not me, so what's the problem?"

Nathan's jaw actually went slack as he considered his brother's colossal blunder. "Did you honestly think that ma and I would let you just waste almost your entire junior year? I had arranged for your records to be transferred so that you got the credit you need, god, Peter, we leave you alone for six months…"

As fond of his charge as he had become, Luke didn't fault himself for taking pleasure in the knowledge that there was at least someone who could take the boy to task. Watching the boy squirm and nod submissively at his brother's rushed diatribe was priceless and he shared a smirk with the equally delighted Lorelai when the teen was sent marching to finish packing his belongings with the promise that extra-curricular tutoring sessions and summer school were definitely in his future.

"Wow," Lorelai said admiringly after the embarrassingly flushed boy had disappeared behind the curtains, "You sir, have a gift."

"Are you talking to me?" Nathan asked, craning his neck to look at the table behind him.

"Uh yeah," Lorelai replied incredulously, eyes wide and a grin firmly planted on her face. "I never thought I'd see the day when our monosyllabic, mysterious bad boy would be sent to his room by his big brother. This might just be the happiest day of my life. I think I might have to break into a spontaneous jig."

"Mom," Rory interjected, blushing under the subtle scrutiny of the stranger, "I really don't think Luke would appreciate you dancing on his counter again."

"No Coyote Ugly!" Luke shouted from the kitchen.

Lorelai stuck out her tongue at her traitorous daughter before inviting Nathan to join them.

"You have no idea how strange it is to hear Peter referred to as a 'mysterious bad boy'," Nathan laughed, gently shaking his head in disbelief as he folded himself into the chair. "Pete is…the consummate good guy. He doesn't always make the best decisions," he clarified with a long-suffering groan as he drummed the manila folder against his thigh, "but he's just a sweet kid."

"Well, then he's one hell of a little actor," Lorelai snorted, "I swear, Brando Jr. almost drove me to blows more times than I can count."

"You're exaggerating," Rory claimed, desperate to defend the boy no matter their relationship status.

"Please, allow me to apologize for anything my brother may have said or done these past months," Nathan spoke with diplomatic contrition, winning the attention of the girls with his slick, well-trained voice and white toothed smile. "You have to understand, it wasn't Peter's idea to come here, and before he left I gave him very strict rules about making relationships. I understand that he made a few…exceptions," he darted his eyes to Rory, "but he wasn't here to make friends. It was hard for him," his voiced lost some of its superficial oiliness as he trained his eyes on the table, "especially since we lost our father just under two weeks before he was sent here."

"Oh no," Lorelai whispered, horrified as she looked back on those first few days following Jess' arrival, realizing for the first time that what she had mistaken for a snarling, disrespectful city punk had actually been a hurt, lonely, mournful kid. "If I had only known…"

Rory excused herself as Nathan ensured her mother that she had reacted exactly as they had planned for the safety of Peter and the entire Petrelli clan. She slowly made her way up to Luke's soon to be solo residence, pausing when she reached the landing and stood in front of the door, allowing her hand to hover over the doorknob. She knew what she had to say, she and her mother had discussed their situation into the wee hours of the morning, but as she stood facing the pebbled glass of the door, she wasn't sure if she could do it.

The choice was taken from her as the door swept open, apparently of its own volition as no one stood on the other side of the portal. She stepped in, moving to Jess' living area in time to see him close up his duffle bag with a very final sounding zip. "Did you...?" she gestured to the door behind her.

"Open it?" he asked, tossing his bag next to a pile of boxes on the floor that had arrived from an anonymous PO Box after he had been in hiding a month. "Yeah, I did. Telekinesis," he explained, lifting his hand towards a cup of water on the kitchen table and forcing it to zoom past Rory's ear, coming to rest neatly in his hand.

"Wow…talented," Rory took a shot at feigning enthusiasm but it fell flat. "You can fly and do…that?"

"I can do a lot of things. I'm what's called an empath; when I meet someone with an ability I can absorb it, make it my own."

"What other stuff can you do?" asked Rory as she moved to sit next to him on his bed.

Glad that she was willing to talk with him, let alone sit in such close proximity to him, Peter didn't even try to twine an arm around her hunched shoulders. "Well…I can stop time, teleport, that's really handy. I can be invisible."

"So if I wanted to go to Paris right now, you could take me?" Rory asked excitedly, momentarily forgetting all of the issues between them.

"In a heartbeat," Peter answered quietly, so tempted to lean in and steal a kiss. He gulped instead and continued, "I can hear people's thoughts too."

Rory squinted suspiciously at him from the corner of her eye. "Are you…?"

"No," Peter categorically denied, raising his hands defensively. "But I have to admit I'm tempted. I have to know what you think of…everything, Rory. I know it wasn't fair to just dump this all on you, but if I can just explain…"

"You don't have to explain anything, Je- sorry, Peter," she interrupted, pulling nervously at the knees of her jeans. "Its really weird not to call you Jess." He made a halfhearted attempt at a smile and she persisted. "I understand that you weren't trying to hurt me, I even understand why you lied to me. I almost admire it," she stood to lean against the closest wall, arms drawn across her chest. "You were protecting your family, and I'd like to believe that if I were in the same position I'd do anything I could to keep everyone I care about safe." She turned to cast a warm gaze on the anxious looking boy on the bed. "It was really brave of you to leave behind your whole world."

"Does this mean that you forgive me?" he asked hopefully as he moved to stand beside her. He reached out to grasp her hand, but his hopes for redemption in her eyes were shot at the knees when she quickly pulled away.

"I understand _why_ you did everything that you did, but it still hurts. I can't deny that I feel…betrayed," she tried to explain, willing her emotions to remain calm. "It isn't just a matter of calling you by an alternate name, you're a completely separate, different person, someone that I don't know."

"But Rory, its like I told you last night…"

"I know, I know," she interjected, walking away from him into the center of the room as he trailed after her. "Everything that was really important was real. But what is that, Jess? The fact that we have similar tastes in books and movies and music, that you can always make me laugh, that you're really great at making out?"

"I think that all sounds pretty good," he interposed, daring to snake a hand around her waist only to be pushed away.

"There are a lot of other important things too," she replied tremulously. "I trusted you…and I don't think I can do that anymore."

"So this is it, then?" he asked with a bite of angry frustration. "You're breaking it off?"

She laughed humorlessly, "How can we even call it breaking up when you're not the boy I was dating?"

"That's what you don't seem to be grasping, I am the same guy. I was more of myself with you than with anyone else."

"Right, more of yourself but never completely," she argued desperately, wiping away a lone angry tear. "You've known all along that underneath Jess Mariano you were someone else, you were always aware that it was a charade, but you can't appreciate what its like for us on the outside. For as long as I've known you I've been sure that you were this one person and now…" Her voice trailed off and she hugged herself tightly, forcing her eyes onto her shoes, fearing she didn't have the strength to match his piercing gaze.

"You're right," he said dejectedly, his empathic nature allowing him a peek into the roaring depths of her confusion. "I guess it was stupid of me to think that I could keep up with this sham. I probably shouldn't have even tried to be anything more than your friend, but you were just so smart and beautiful…" he reached out to gently run his fingers through the loose ends of her hair. "Please, believe me when I say I'm sorry."

"I do…Peter," Rory swallowed heavily, wrestling her heart back down from her throat. "I really do." She watched as he slung his duffle over his shoulders and easily hefted the boxes into his arms using what had to be super human strength.

"So this is goodbye," a melancholy Peter said from the doorway, looking back at what had been his home for the past six months, making one last vivid memory of the girl who had meant so much to him. "You know I really am from New York," he offered suddenly.

"Oh good," Rory answered with false bravado. "One less lie, right?"

"Right," Jess smiled sadly and began to turn but stopped mid-way. "Just so you know, Luke has the number to my house. If you ever want to say hi…"

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," she replied. "Bye."

"Bye Rory."

She didn't come down as Nathan pulled the rental car up to the curb of the diner and she didn't join the small crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk to swap gossip at lightening fast speeds as they saw off the brothers; Peter hadn't expected her to. They had said their good-byes in private, as was best, but as they drove off he glanced back at the apartment window just in time to catch the sight of a pale face and a flash of brightest blue. As he leaned back into the comfort of the luxurious leather seats, he was aware that he had finally achieved his dream of the past months. He was going home, home to New York, home to his friends, home to his family and yet he couldn't help but feel that he was leaving behind something precious and irreplaceable.

* * *

Oh, don't hate me, ok? We have one more chapter to go, so all is not (for sure) lost for you diehard literati's. Though, I am not promising that Rory and Peter will end up romantically involved. At this point I'm undecided and can go either way: good friends, or more. If you feel inclined one way or another, please feel free to make your desires known. I can be swayed, I'll tell you that. Thanks for reading and please review :)


	6. Chapter 6

It hasn't been toooo long, has it? ::winces:: I hope not. I really enjoyed this chapter, thought it was a lot of fun, hope you feel similarly! Thanks for reading!

* * *

"Come on, Rory, you cannot do this to me again!"

The beleaguered girl rolled her eyes and huffed at her mother's unwavering whine. "I'm not going," she pouted, pulling the closest relic of her childhood, an old rag doll, into her chest for a crushing hug. "And don't stomp your foot at me."

Silence followed by a petulant "I'm not…"

"Yes you were," Rory assured her as she slowly uncurled herself from her bed and moved to open her bedroom door in order to address the persistent woman on the other side. She couldn't suppress a smile at the sight of her mother suspiciously warding her away with her index fingers intersecting to form a makeshift cross.

"Only a witch could see through a closed door," Lorelai squinted warily before rushing to pick up the nearest phone. "Quick! Help! I need an old priest and a young priest; preferably a handsome one with a Thornbird-like sentimentality. "

"Mom…" Rory laughed pleasantly, fully aware that her mother was doing her best to bolster her less than soaring spirits.

"Cancel that order, monsignor," Lorelai announced into the receiver before following her daughter to the kitchen table. "Its been two weeks, sweets," she gently reminded the girl across the table, laying a comforting hand on her delicate wrist as she absentmindedly shredded a day old newspaper. "You know how crazy Richard and Emily are about you, it isn't fair to keep avoiding them."

"You're completely right," Rory admitted without looking up from her growing pile of hamster cage quality newsprint shredding, "and I know its stupid and childish and totally immature but I just don't want to deal with it."

"Ignoring problems doesn't make them go away Rory, it just gives them time to grow. Don't let this be a baobab, my little princess."

Rory took a steadying breath before looking up to meet her mother's concerned gaze. "The last time I was there I had that ugly blow up with…well, you know…and I haven't seen grandma since so I know she's going to ask me about it and if she doesn't I'll know its only because you warned her not to, which is even worse!"

"Don't make me get the priests back on the phone," Lorelai warned jokingly.

"I'm being serious," Rory cried despairingly, rushing out of her seat to throw her slight form over the back of their plump sofa, rubbing her face against the warm, worn and homey cushions. "I hate him, mom," she moaned, shifting her body to allow Lorelai room to join her. "I'm trying so hard to forget all about dumb McLiarpants but I can't. He's everywhere; even grandma's house."

"McLiarpants?" Lorelai snorted mockingly, waving away the withering stare she received in response to her derision. "I've come up with so many better names for him and you go with McLiarpants?"

"Stop it," Rory demanded pettishly, "you can't mock me in my time of need."

"Oh, sweetie," Lorelai smiled, pulling the downcast girl into a tight squeeze. "You know I thrive off teenage melodramatics."

"I am not being melodramatic," she denied.

"Rory, you're acting like he went to the moon or…or financially backed Gigli. You're the only one saying that you have to forget him."

Rory pulled herself out of her mother's arms, instead positioning herself in front of the still seated woman, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Since when are you so pro-Jess?"

"I'm not pro-Jess," Lorelai swore, horror struck at the very suggestion, "but I am 100%, totally pro-you; and Rory, this is just a little third party perspective here, but you're not acting like you're over him."

"It was all just so sudden," she muttered, crossing her arms over her stomach. "One minute he's Jess, then he tears all that away and he claims to be this completely different guy and then he's just gone. I thought I was doing the smart thing by breaking it off but…"

"What if you made the biggest mistake of your life?" Lorelai suggested.

"Something like that, yeah."

Lorelai jumped up and ran for her purse, to her daughter's immense confusion. Moments after her abrupt departure, the older woman was back, thrusting a scrap of paper into the bewildered girl's hands.

"What is…"

"His number; the one he left with Luke. I had to do my best wheedling to get it out of him, but, hey, no job too big or too small for super mom."

"I dunno about this," she murmured, staring with wide eyes at the innocent looking slip of paper in her hands, "What if…what if…"

Loreali stormed up to the wavering girl, presenting their cordless to her quickly blanching daughter. "What if he doesn't pick up? What if you like Peter even more than you did Jess? What if he's the Antichrist? We'll never know until you call."

"You're right," Rory reached out for the phone, boldly inputting the appropriate digits. "If nothing else, I'll have some closure, right?"

"Right," Lorelai cheered.

Rory put the receiver to her hear, paling dramatically as she shouted "It's ringing!" and threw the phone to her squawking mother.

"Hey I'm not the one who's got the hots for him," she protested and tossed the object back at her unfortunately unprepared daughter's head. Rory could hear the continued ring as it collided with her forehead and fell to the floor with a muffled thump. She fumbled for the abused electronic while rubbing vigorously at her quickly reddening forehead, putting it to her ear just in time to catch a feminine voice crackle onto the line.

"Petrelli residence, this is Claire speaking."

"Umm…" All cognitive functions simultaneously froze.

"Hello?"

"Uhh…hi."

"…Hi."

"Um, I'm calling for…Peter?" She anxiously tugged at a lock of hair, throwing a dirty look at her mother who peered down at her from the landing as she stalked over to the privacy of her bedroom.

"Well, who's calling?" the youthful voice snidely inquired.

"Oh, I'm just a friend," she answered awkwardly.

"A friend?" Claire, whoever she was, echoed, voice thick with disbelief.

"Um, well, yeah."

"A _girl_friend?"

'_Oh dear Lord.'_ "Um…well…"

"_Claire, who're you talking to?"_ Rory's heart jumped at the faraway sound of a very familiar voice.

"Oh, no one," Claire sang cheekily, "Just your _girl_friend."

Sigh. "Give it over."

"Not until you tell me…hey! No fair, I'm telling grandma you used your abilities against me."

"Knock yourself out," he mumbled before licking his lips nervously and putting the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" The breathless "Hi" he received in return sent a welcome thrill down his spine, one he knew well but thought he had experienced for the last time. "Rory, hey. It's been a while."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to call, but…you know, I just, didn't."

"No, no, I know how it is. Life and all," he cringed as he heard his pathetic excuse for small talk, mentally coaching himself to stay cool.

"So, um, was that your sister?" Rory asked with genuine interest, willing away the awkwardness that had replaced their former camaraderie.

"Nope, Claire's my niece. I only have the one brother."

"She's charming," she deadpanned, grinning as he laughed warmly in response.

"She's eleven, Heidi swears they're supposed to be annoying as hell at that age."

Rory batted away the tiny flare of jealously at the admission of yet another strange female in his life. "Who's Heidi?" she asked with attempted nonchalance.

"That would be my sister-in-law. She's great, the only one who can even come close to keeping my brother in line."

She refused to acknowledge the rush of relief she felt at the revelation of their platonic relationship. "Oh, well that's great."

A moment of silence followed, both aware that they were very adeptly dancing around the one subject that so needed discussion. Peter, fully aware that Gilmore's were quite skilled at dancing in every possible meaning of the word, decided that it would come down to him to steer the conversation. "What made you decide to call?" he asked bluntly. "Kinda thought I had heard the last of you."

"Yeah well, I was just…I was just wondering," she grasped for any explanation for her unexpected call following two weeks of silence that did not include admitting how desperately she had missed him. "I was wondering if you know about baobabs."

"Baobabs?"

"Uh-huh."

"As in the destructive weed of Asteroid B 612?"

The grin that erupted over her face was so wide she was sure he had to sense it even in far away New York. "You know. I love that you know."

"Huh. Nerd."

Rory's witty retaliation was cut short when Peter muttered "Hold on" and turned the receiver away from his mouth. Even so, she could clearly make out the shouted dialogue that followed on the other side of the connection.

"_Claire!"_

"_What?"_

"_Get off the extension."_

Guilty silence. _"I'm not."_

"_Claire, don't make me push you into traffic."_

"_DAD! Did you hear that?"_

Peter groaned into the phone. "Sorry about that. She's usually not this weird but she gets strange when there's another girl in the picture."

"I'm a rival for your affections and she's jealous, I think its sweet…kinda."

"_Peter!"_

"Aaaand cue my brother. He has this thing about me threatening his daughter with bodily harm. Go figure."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't threaten to kill his only child."

"Eh, I have a year old nephew too, and besides I couldn't kill her if I tried. She can heal."

"More than most people, you mean?"

"Spontaneous regeneration. Means you can heal from just about any conceivable wound. I once saw her cut off her pinkie toe with a pair of scissors and watched while it instantly grew back," he added, shuddering with disgust at the not very fond memory.

"That's horrific!"

"You're telling me, I was there."

"_Peter! Now!"_ A gruff voice barked harshly somewhere in the background.

"I should probably deal with this," he admitted regretfully.

"Yeah, I should probably get going too. Friday night dinner."

"You Gilmore's, just a couple of wild and crazy guys."

"Hey, I'll have you know my grandpa and I sometimes end the night with a very intense game of scrabble."

"Boy howdy, I stand corrected." A beat. "Will I hear from you soon?"

"Yeah…maybe," she responded coyly.

"Phone tease," he accused.

"Bye Jes- Peter."

"Later, Rory."

* * *

"Tell me again what you said right at the end," Lorelai demanded as she and Rory jumped out of the jeep, slamming the doors before walking side by side to the intimidatingly large doors of the Gilmore family home.

"It wasn't a big deal, he just asked if I would call again and I slid him a very slick 'maybe'."

"Wow. I am impressed," Lorelai praised, reaching out to prod the doorbell. "You're a seductive little vixen. It makes mommy so proud."

"That hardly makes me penthouse material," Rory argued, following her mother and the maid of the month into the foyer. "At best I'm a vixen in training."

"Uh, hello, he called you a phone tease, you tramp."

Emily looked up sharply as she caught Lorelai's last bit of debauchery, suspiciously eyeing her approaching descendants. "Lorelai, that's hardly appropriate language to use when addressing your daughter," she reprimanded high-handedly, accepting the offered greetings with a glare and tightly pursed lips. She continued as she led the girls before the roaring fire to wait for her tardy husband, "There is absolutely nothing about Rory that speaks of loose virtues, I can't believe you'd even joke about it, assuming it was one of your funny jokes of course."

"No, mom, I've just had enough of shelling out for her clothes and food and shelter so I'm setting her out on the streets. She's pretty enough to make enough a few hundred a week, don't you think?" Lorelai took the glass her mother offered, enjoying the sharp down turn of her thinly drawn lips with wicked pleasure.

"That's absolutely distasteful," Emily responded coolly.

"Of course it's a joke grandma," Rory reassured her, "No hooking for me."

"Not until grad-school," Lorelai added.

Emily purposefully ignored her daughter, turning to face her granddaughter instead, who at least had the decency to try to pretend she wasn't delighted by the obscene beginning of the night. "Who called you a phone tease? What is a phone tease?" She drew back, suddenly wary. "Is it something dirty? If it is, I don't want to know. I'll just say that a girl your age has to be very careful of not only her reputation but her safety and the security of her future."

"It's nothing dirty or anything even in the realm of dirty," Rory waved away her grandmother's concerns, shooting her mother a warning glance. "I was just talking to a…friend on the phone and the phrase was bandied about."

"What type of friend would call you a phone tease?" the concerned grandmother asked with intensity, even giving in and turning to Lorelai when Rory continued to stammer.

"A _boy_ friend," Lorelai teased, smirking as Rory gave one more woefully inept shot at intimidation.

"Oh, my god," Rory commented, astounded at her mother's traitorous comment. "I've finally managed to pinpoint your level of maturity to an exact age. You're eleven."

Lorelai cocked her head, trying to figure out why her daughter had decided on so precise a number, while Emily slowly turned to face the young girl on her left, a raised eyebrow her only visible sign of displeasure. "Oh," she said in a clipped tone, smoothing her already wrinkle-free skirt, "your boyfriend? Jess, is that correct? The…," she closed her eyes, searching for a non-confrontational manner of referring to the offensive boy, "young man you brought to dinner?"

"Well, yes and no…" Rory explained weakly, throwing her hands in the air when her grandmother tried to excuse herself from the room.

"Mom," Lorelai interceded, forcing the eldest Gilmore woman back into her chair. "Let Rory explain, okay?"

"There's no need to explain anything," she responded snippily, though she gave way to her daughter's insistence, "I understand what it's like to be a young woman, under the influence of a handsome boy. When it comes down to it, why should I expect Rory to side with the grandparents who have supported her in every way possible over a boy she hasn't even know for a year?"

"I didn't side with him, grandma," Rory assured the obviously hurt matriarch. "You have no idea how mad I was at him for his behavior and if we do start dating again, I swear, the first thing we do will be to come here and apologize. I promise."

"Start dating again?" she asked with typical Emily shrewdness. "You broke up? Was it over his, to phrase it lightly, indecorum?"

"Hey, where's dad?" Lorelai spoke for her hesitant offspring. "I am famished. Dying of starvation. We passed a dead opossum on the road and Rory had to physically prevent me from stopping the car and having me some road kill."

"He'll be here shortly," Emily answered distractedly, moving to sit closer Rory. "You'll survive a few more minutes Lorelai, hyperbole isn't becoming in a woman your age. Besides, I want to hear more from Rory."

"Well, see grandma, the thing is…he wasn't exactly who he claimed to be," Rory explained awkwardly, grimacing as the indelicate words escaped.

"What was he, some kind of conman?" Emily asked intently. "Lorelai, were you allowing your daughter to be involved with a conman?"

"He wasn't a conman, grandma. It's just a little hard to explain. I should have made some charts…"

Lorelai joined her mother and daughter, patting Rory patronizingly on the knee. "Charts don't fix everything, baby doll. Give mommy a shot. Okay, so basically "Jess" wasn't safe in New York and his family needed somewhere to hide him and Luke, being the all around great guy that he always is, took him in, even letting him borrow the identity of his nephew."

"And his name isn't really Jess," Rory added.

"So he was lying to you the entire time you knew him," Emily clarified, evoking dread in the younger woman as the well-used look of righteous indignation crawled over her visage. "He dared to lie to you and now you're considering bringing him back into your life? Rory you know nothing about him! This is highly irresponsible and very unlike you. I can tell you your grandfather won't like it one bit."

"We were pretty upset about it too, mom," Lorelai placated, fighting the rising irritation she always felt when her parents attempted to assert any authority in Rory's life. "That's why Rory broke it off with him for two weeks, but it's her life."

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed in her place between the two older women, Rory jumped up and paced in front of the fire. "Its not like I'm marrying him or anything. I just want a chance to get to know the real him, is that so crazy?"

"No, it's not, sweets," Lorelai maintained.

"Well forgive me for being the realistic kill joy," Emily sniffed angrily, "but I happen to believe that Rory's well being is more important than her curiosity over some miscreant young hooligan."

"God, how can you call him a hooligan, you've known him for a grand total of half an hour. You don't even know him."

"And you do?" Emily asked solemnly, cutting the young woman's anger to the quick and pouring confusion in its stead. "Do you even know his real name?"

"It's Peter," Rory answered quietly, accepting the gentle side hug her mother had sidled up to offer. "Peter Petrelli."

"Petrelli?" Emily asked sharply, her head whipping around quickly enough to make the other women step back in surprise. "Peter Petrelli?"

"Yeah…" They answered together.

"As in the New York Petrelli's?" she clarified with a creeping smile.

"Well, he's from New York," Rory and Lorelai shared worried glances over Emily's sudden change of heart and the horrifying possibilities it implied.

"Sit down, sit down," Emily insisted, freshening their drinks cheerfully. "Do you know anything at all about his family?"

Rory was about to respond when Lorelai slapped a hand over the girl's mouth. "Don't say anything, she's far too happy for this to be good for us."

"Nonsense, Lorelai, don't be silly. Now, Rory, you were about to say?"

Eyeing her mother apprehensively, she continued, "Well, I don't know much, we've only spoken once in the past two weeks, but I met his older brother, Nathan. Oh and I talked to his niece, Claire."

Lorelai moaned at the glow of her mother's self-satisfied smirk. "What a wonderfully pleasant surprise," she beamed.

"What's the pleasant surprise, do tell," a voice boomed from the now occupied stairwell. "Ah, Rory, you've decided to honor us this evening. Is this the surprise?" he asked, offering light pecks to the three women waiting on his arrival.

"Richard, you will never guess who Rory's beau really is," Emily answered excitedly, "it really is too much."

"Oh Emily, you know I'm not much for guessing games," he chided good-naturedly. "Are you speaking of the one you had over several weeks ago? The boy you called rude, miserable and highly indecorous?"

"That's right, mom," Lorelai interjected, "the liar remember?"

"Posh," Emily scoffed, "If what you said is true than a bit of surliness is only to be expected. Richard, he's Arthur and Angela Petrelli's youngest boy," she continued eagerly, "Isn't that wonderful? Rory Gilmore and Peter Petrelli, why you couldn't possibly hope for a better match."

"My goodness," an astonished Richard looked from the sour Lorelai to an unsure Rory to his wife, who was clearly already planning the teenager's wedding in her mind. "Why, it's marvelous that Rory is cultivating such providential connections. Smart thinking, young lady."

Emily and Richard blathered on, extolling the sagacity to be found in socializing with the New York upper crust, of whom the Petrelli's were indisputably the crème de la crème, feigning amnesia when Lorelai very pointedly reminded Emily that the boy they now called "Rory's delightful young man" had only minutes prior been described as a miscreant young hoodlum and a rude, indecorous, lying conman.

"What have you done?" Lorelai pounced on her daughter as soon as the convivial pair took their celebration into the dining room. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, nothing that makes those two this happy can ever, ever, ever be a good thing."

The overwhelmed teen bit her lip as she mimicked her mother's slow trudge toward the candlelit table. What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

During the week following their dinner, Rory had refused to listen to her mother's vehement insistence that Emily would attempt to involve herself in Rory's relationship, as she was sure to do after having learned of the lofty pedigree of her intended. In fact, Rory had been actively defensive of her grandmother, assuring her jaded mother that Emily certainly had only the purest of intentions where her granddaughter was concerned, and earnestly doing her best to believe so herself.

Bearing these, naïve, platitudes in mind, Rory struggled against her nagging suspicions when Emily surprised her at Chilton the Friday following their enlightening dinner. "Grandma," an astonished Rory hesitantly ventured over to her beaming grandmother, "what are you doing here?"

"Surprise!" she cried, throwing out her arms for added flourish. "I'm whisking you away on a mad cap adventure."

"What?" she asked, utterly dumbfounded by the unexpected response.

"Well, I asked myself today, 'When was the last time you spent any time alone with Rory?'" Emily ushered the weakly protesting girl into the back of the idling town car, slipping the too heavy backpack from her shoulders as she maneuvered the teenager. "To be completely honest, I couldn't even list the times we've spent together, just the two of us, so I rationalized that there's no time like the present to remedy that travesty."

"Really, grandma, I would love to spend more time with you, but I can't have any mad cap adventures on such short notice."

"Nonsense, you young people are supposed to welcome spontaneity, aren't you/"

"I'm more of an old geezer in that department," Rory admitted.

"Am I interrupting any important plans?" Emily asked pointedly.

"Well, no not really, but I was planning on doing some major studying this weekend."

Emily smiled and gestured to her bulging book bag. "You have your books here and I promise not to be offended if you choose to study during our drive or later in the hotel."

"Good point," she grudgingly confessed, scouring the furthest reaches of her mind for an excellent reason to have the chauffer turn the car around. "Oh, I don't have a change of clothes or pajamas or even a toothbrush. Can't expect to have a decent adventure without a sexy wardrobe."

"Your mother is a horrible influence on you," Emily smacked her lips woefully. "At any rate, that's hardly a problem considering that your adventure entails a whirlwind shopping spree at all of the most chic New York boutiques."

Rory's face instantly brightened. "I do like shopping," she commented excitedly. "I've never been on a whirlwind shopping spree, are shoes included?"

"The skies the limit," Emily cried exuberantly, pleased to see her excitement was catching. However, her toothy smile quickly faded when Rory's short-lived excitement suddenly ebbed.

"What's the matter?" she asked, leaning over to rest her hand on the knee of her now frowning granddaughter.

"Its nothing," Rory murmured dismissively, though her uncomfortable squirming screamed otherwise.

"Rory," the older woman scolded. "I raised your mother, I know when a teenage girl is lying."

Rory forced her gaze out the tinted window to rest on the dizzying scenery. "Its just…New York?"

"What's wrong with New York?" Emily pulled away from the younger woman. "It's the fashion capital of the world. Where else would we go?"

"Well, yeah, of course, but it doesn't have anything to do with…you know," she gestured.

"I have no idea what you mean," Emily commented impassively.

"Uh, Peter?" Rory offered simply, leveling a searching gaze over her tight lipped grandmother. "My mom warned me that you would try and pull something because you have this need to see me sucked into your twisted world of wealth and corruption, and I didn't want to believe her but here we are. You're honestly telling me that this "shopping spree" has nothing to do with Peter or his family?"

"I see," Emily returned meekly, lowering her eyes to her classy pumps. "If that's how you really feel about this, I'll have the driver turn around. We'll have you home within half an hour."

Instantly racked with guilt at the sight of her downcast grandmother, Rory stopped the elder Gilmore from drawing the attention of the black clad man. "I didn't mean to hurt you grandma, I just want to know what your real motive is for this."

"I love you Rory," Emily spoke honestly and sharply, "and I know that soon you'll be going out on your own. Perhaps the beacon of your friends and mother will draw you back to your hometown but I have no pretensions that as our relationship stands you'll be inclined to take time out of your infrequent visits home in order to see your evil grandparents. Is it such a crime to want the two of us to be closer?"

"No, its not," the greatly softened girl swore, offering a small smile in way of apology. "And I'd love to go shopping with you."

"Good," Emily smiled in return with a quick nod. "Now why don't you call your mother and explain where you'll be," she ordered, politely ignoring the one sided conversation that followed after Rory had her mother on the phone. Once Rory convinced Lorelai that she was not being held against her will and that she really truly desired to spent a weekend in the company of Emily Gilmore, having been seduced by phrases like 'mad cap adventure' and 'whirl wind shopping spree', Lorelai gave her blessing with the one addendum that any and all purchases be made with the foreknowledge that they would be borrowed with impudence.

Given the somewhat inauspicious start to their first ever outing, hours later Rory was surprised to realize how much she was enjoying herself. Rather than retreating to her books, Rory whiled away the hours of travel engrossed in the generous story telling of her grandmother, who delighted in dishing previously unheard family gossip. Somehow, Rory realized as she watched her grandmother's vivid expressions, she had never fully appreciated how witty and, well, fun the older woman could be. By the time they arrived in the city the pair was ravenous, though Emily positively vetoed Rory's idea to pull over at the nearest devil dog stand.

"I made reservations at an exclusive little café," Emily explained, eyes sparkling. "Though of course you will require a wardrobe change."

"If you insist," Rory smiled eagerly in response. "Let the shopping begin."

Never having been shopping with the older, conservative woman, Rory was unsure of what to expect. She couldn't shake the nauseating image of herself in a neat pink skirt suit complete with an unflattering bob and oversized pearl earrings. She was relieved when the first item her grandmother offered for her inspection, only after shooing away the overly-attentive sales consultants at Rory's insistence, was a figure flattering red sheath dress.

"What do you think?" Rory asked when she donned the outfit and stood twirling in front of the three-way mirror.

"Lovely," Emily smiled with admiration. "I like it."

"So do I," she grinned, "You have a great eye grandma, I didn't even see this."

"As your grandfather would be sure to remind you, I have years and years of practice as this particular art form. Now, try these on next," she handed the younger woman an armful of other items in a wide variety of styles, textures and colors.

"Yes ma'am," Rory willingly complied, making sure to model each outfit for her waiting audience.

As soon as the impromptu fashion show had run its course the two ladies agreed that the first style beat all others by far, and so, a short while later Rory found herself in the fantastic state of being helped from the back of a stylish town car wearing a stunning outfit and looking downright smashing. Feeling fancy and feminine and beautiful as she was being led to a private dining area in the plush, dimly lit restaurant that reeked of money and high living, Rory put her arm through her grandmother's and silently thanked her with a tight squeeze.

"Are you having fun?" Emily asked warmly as she peered over the menu at her granddaughter, whose beaming smile and radiantly glowing blue eyes answered for her.

"This has been so great, grandma," Rory closed her menu and looked around with a sigh. "I mean, look at this place, it's amazing. Do you think the paintings are originals?"

"I wouldn't eat here if they weren't," she smiled cheekily, raising her recently filled wine glass in mock salute. A waiter arrived to take their orders, and while her grandmother outlined her precise and exacting expectations to be passed along to the head chef, Rory felt the hair on the back of neck rise with the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. A quick glance to her right proved fruitless, but as she cast a surreptitious look over her left shoulder she made fleeting eye contact with a well-dressed older woman sitting at the next table over. Trying to brush off the incident as something that is to be expected when dining in public, Rory turned back to her grandmother, who was currently bemoaning the impossibility of finding good service these days. She tried focusing on her grandmother's words, but could only find the capability to nod intermittently in a highly absentminded fashion. The creepy sensation of that woman's probing gaze refused to accept banishment and, unable to handle the inexplicable sense of anxiousness brought on by the feeling of being scrutinized by a complete stranger, Rory excused herself to the ladies' room, sure that by the time she returned the woman would be gone.

As she walked back to her table, she was overjoyed to see that her assumption had been correct. The table previously occupied by her stalker was empty, the dishes cleared away and napkins freshened. Turning the corner that led to her table, Rory couldn't withhold a gasp when she saw that her grandmother had gained a familiar dining mate.

"Rory," Emily exclaimed, a self-satisfied glint tinkling in her eye as the young woman drew near. "You'll never guess who was having dinner here too. An amazing coincidence."

The woman stood and turned, thin smile stretched tight, intense dark eyes squinting almost mockingly. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant bun, her expertly tailored dark suit made Emily's shoulder pads and large golden buttons stand out garishly. She was a sleek and polished sophisticate to Emily's southern belle debutante circa 1985. "You must be Rory," she greeted in clipped tones that did little towards welcoming. "My name is Angela Petrelli. I believe you know my son."

* * *

Dun dun dunn…hehehe oh man I love Angela. This was supposed to be the last chapter but it was going on way too long so I figured I'd split it into two. Anyway, this was really fun to write, which is weird because there were just lil bits of Peter and waaaay too much Lorelai and Rory, but hey, it is what it is. Hope you enjoyed, please review, let me know what you think.

Oh, and I don't have to explain the whole baobab thing do I? I hope not…if you don't know what its in reference to I will be very sad :'(


	7. Chapter 7

Final chapter, wow. So many thanks to all you amazing people who put up with this silly little story. Never in a million years thought anyone else would be into this, but I'm so glad that you guys were. I _probably_ won't be back in the GG world (who knows, never say never, right?), so thanks to all you GG fans for allowing me to play hehehe. Its been fun, guys.

* * *

Angela Petrelli was, if nothing else, a proud woman. She gloried in the recognition she received as the head of so and so charity leagues or as first chair on the board of trustees for this and that. Her wardrobe was chic, elegant and always very now. The family home underwent annual tweaking under the guidance of the most celebrated interior decorator of the moment in order to preserve Angela's ability to stun and belittle every guest warmly ushered over her threshold. Even amidst the grief of her husband's too sudden death Angela had the state of mind to ensure that every detail, down to the very cufflinks and shoelaces adorning the deceased for his eternal rest, would reflect well on the Petrelli name. Of all her achievements the greatest sources of heart-swelling, chin-raising pride were her handsome boys. Nathan; athletic, square jawed and hard nosed like his father. Ambitious and intelligent, he fell nicely in step with the goals and dreams she had planned for him long years before his first 4.0. Peter, however, was quickly on his way towards becoming a mar in her world of high esteem. For all his redeeming qualities, he simply lacked that certain dogged hunger for greatness that marked his elders as Petrelli's.

'_At least he's cute_,' Angela observed sardonically as she peeped in at her youngest son from the doorway to his bedroom. She admired the thick fall of dark wavy hair across his pale forehead as he leaned over his crowded desk, strikingly defined eyes blinking wearily as he studiously poured over the materials before him. '_Studious_,' Angela had to restrain herself from releasing an unrefined snort in derision of the idea of that particular attribute applied to her capricious boy. She moved into the room, not failing to notice her son's desperate shuffling of papers as soon as her presence was detected.

"Mom," Peter twirled his chair around to face his approaching mother, flashing the woman a charming grin as he tucked a pencil behind his right ear, a move he was hoping would convey the impression that he was giving the tool a break after hours of furious note taking. "What's going on?"

Angela walked up to her son with a smile. "Still studying physics, I see." She leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead, letting both hands rest at the junction of his jaw and neck.

"Yeah, it's a bear," Peter sighed with convincing exhaustion, appreciating with only the smallest smidge of concern that the normally unfeeling woman had opted to leave her hands in their tender embrace even after pulling out of her tight peck, "but, you know, I'm doing by best."

"Your best?" Angela echoed, her slightly cocked eyebrow sending a warning thrill straight to Peter's gut. Her left hand quickly flitted upwards to retrieve the nestled pencil from behind his ear. "I see," her voice rang sarcastically as she held aloft the bright and shiny yellow number 2, unsharpened and unused. "What have you been writing in, blood?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" he asked hopefully, with a very slight grimace. "Hey, what are you…" he protested as she reached behind him, feeling under the mint condition physics text, which was suspiciously cracked open to the exact middle of it's 600 odd pages.

"Well, well," Angela cried triumphantly as she pulled out a much more well worn paper back, ignoring the groans of her son as his head lolled behind him in defeat. "I wasn't aware Ray Bradbury also wrote prep school physics texts."

"Ray is a man of many and varied talents," Peter grinned winningly.

"Don't be smart," Angela snapped, dropping a gentle whack atop the seated boy's head with his copy of the Illustrated Man.

Peter scowled, dramatically soothing his wounded cranium. "Skip the lecture, okay? Nate was just in here giving it the ol' college try…"

"And it obviously worked so well," Angela muttered dryly, holding up his book for emphasis.

"Aren't I allowed breaks, warden?" he asked defensively.

She held up his unmarked pencil without a word.

"I think I had a pen around here somewhere," he murmured, patting himself down with openly affected bewilderment.

She sighed resignedly, shaking her head as she bent to scoop up a carelessly discarded jacked from off the floor. "Your brother asked me to let him deal with your schooling issues and so I leave this in his capable hands." She absentmindedly folded and smoothed the blazer, refusing to meet the boys eyes as they both thought what neither would say; chiefly that if Arthur were still alive…

"Regardless," Angela snapped herself out of the morose bend of her thoughts with a small shake and marched across the room to hang the item in her son's closet, "this isn't what I wanted to discuss with you. I had quite the interesting encounter this evening." She turned back to face the clearly uninterested young man.

"Let me guess, someone got so bored of the pointless, not to mention endless, chatter that they fell asleep, swan diving right into the soup of the day," he suggested nonsensically, rocking his chair from side to side as he fully enjoyed the perturbed look he had earned.

"Such a handsome face," Angela drawled appreciatively, momentarily cradling his jaw in her right hand before shattering the moment when the gentle touch turned into a painless slap, "but such a mouth."

"So what happened?" Peter conceded, chuckling and rolling his eyes at the typically Angela move.

"I happened to run into an old acquaintance of yours," Angela explained simply as she leaned in to straighten her son's twisted collar.

"My acquaintance?" Peter clarified incredulously, screwing his face to the side as he looked up at his mother. "Who the hell…"

"Language," Angela scolded, pulling his collar roughly. "Why you choose to mimic your brother's vices while ignoring every good trait is beyond me."

Peter wrenched himself from the motherly grasp. "Focus, mom. Who are you talking about?"

"One Emily Gilmore," she answered nonchalantly, completing her grooming with a flick of his hair. "We just '_happened'_ to be dining at the same café tonight. A mighty coincidence; and I don't believe in coincidence."

"Rory's grandmother?" he asked, mouth agape as his mother calmly turned to his bureau mirror to pat at her hair. "You had dinner with Rory's grandmother."

"Not only her grandmother," Angela smirked into the mirror before turning the wicked expression over her shoulder to rest uneasily on her son. "The young lady was also there. She's quite lovely, in a painfully awkward, far too thin type of fashion. But that's just my opinion."

"I swear mom," Peter jumped out of his chair and rushed to his mother's side, eyes flashing dangerously as she continued maintenance on her styled hair, "if you were mean or hurtful to her I'll…"

"You'll what?" she asked sharply, meeting his glare unflinchingly. She continued when he remained silent and cast his eyes to the floor. "Don't bandy about empty threats Peter. If you're going to threaten someone it should always mean something."

"Gee, thanks for the life lesson, Mrs. Cleaver," he drawled darkly, "now tell me again about the proper way to hide a body. Was it stash, bury, clean up or clean up, stash, bury?"

"I'll have you know that I was perfectly polite and that is only because I know how you feel about her," the woman snapped, pushing past her son. "To be honest I pitied the girl. It was only too obvious that Emily had orchestrated the entire meeting. That odious woman must be overjoyed at the prospect of worming her way into our family."

"I thought she was supposed to be your friend?" Peter asked almost accusingly.

"Dear sweet Peter," Angela laughed weakly, "once you reach a certain stage in life friendship takes on a new world of meanings.

"Just tell me plainly, should I even bother trying to ever speak to her again or is she so scared off that at this very moment she's hopping the next steamer to Hong Kong?"

"We barely spoke at all," Angela remarked flippantly, sauntering over to the bedroom door. "I'm sure the next time we meet we'll become the best of friends."

"The next time?" Peter repeated worriedly, a frown deepening upon his normally clear brow as he followed his mother. "What next time?"

Angela turned to her son with a tell-tale smile, thrusting the forgotten book into his unsuspecting hands. "It's a big city, Peter," her voice rang portentously as she walked into the hallway, "people run into one another all the time."

Peter's gaze flickered between the book in his hands and the now empty doorway. He tossed the object, sending it sailing in a wide arc before landing in a flutter of pages on his bed, by which time he was already fast on his mother's heels demanding information on the girl who at that very moment, unbeknownst to him, was having her own struggle against the maternal authority in her life.

Half way across town Rory and Emily sat in increasingly uncomfortable silence that had begun the moment Angela walked away from their table.

A carefree Rory would have squealed, gushed and called Lane over their luxuriously plush accommodations, in fact she probably would have made a point to call her from the pointlessly extravagant bathroom phone, but instead of exploring the closet the size of her bedroom or the Jacuzzi tub built for five Rory stomped over to the bathroom, communicating her displeasure with a loud slam of the door as she figuratively and literally shut out the elder Gilmore. Believing she was being generous in giving the teenager time to pout alone, Emily went about her nightly preparations and waited an hour before addressing the girl. "Rory, its getting late, come to bed now."

"I'd rather sleep in here," the muffled reply escaped from between the doorjamb.

"That's the bathroom, for goodness sake," Emily squawked, appalled at the mere suggestion and giving the doorknob a halfhearted tug. "You're acting like a silly child and I'm at a complete loss as for an explanation."

An angry, strangled sound echoed about the bathrooms tiled walls as Rory rushed to throw open the door and confront the woman on the other side. "You don't know why I'm upset?"

"No, I really don't," the older woman sniffed imperially and turned away from the glowering girl.

"Tonight, grandma, tonight!" she cried, eyes blazing electric blue as she followed her grandmother into the sitting room. "You knew Mrs. Petrelli was going to be at that café, that was the whole point of this trip. I cannot believe I actually bought that heart felt spiel about wanting us to be closer."

Emily primly lowered herself onto the brocaded settee. "Really, Rory, you become more like your mother every day; I'm always the enemy, always out to ruin your life."

Rory plopped down besides the robe-clad woman, shoulders hunched as she and Emily matched gazes. "Tell me it isn't true. Look me in the eye and tell me this isn't why you brought me to New York."

Emily met her granddaughter's beseeching eyes with her own steely glare for a brief moment before standing to her feet with an exasperated huff. "I may have called a few choice locations in order to inquire after their reservations."

Rory wordlessly stood, beginning to walk away from the other woman but abruptly stopped when her grand mother called out "Forgive me if I'm not as good a liar as that boy you're so fond of, my dear."

A pained contortion flashed across Rory's pale face as she slowly turned to face the elder Gilmore. "You know, I've always defended you. I've always thought mom only sees such negativity in you because she's looking through her hurt teenage eyes but, wow, in one evening you've really proven yourself to be as selfish and manipulative as she's always claimed."

"I'm selfish, am I?" Emily scoffed, dropping her chin and glaring saucily at Rory from under her brows. "How is it selfish to try and nudge along your misbegotten romance? I was only trying to help."

"I wasn't ready to meet Peter's mom, grandma!" Rory cried, eyes bugging with the intensity of her fervor. "Meeting someone's mom is a really big deal and I wasn't ready for it. What kind of impression do you think I made, standing there agog, my jaw dangling somewhere around my knees. I couldn't think of anything to say, I was so nervous I knocked over my water. It was horrible, and I have you to thank for it. So, you know, thanks. God, I just want to go home," she threw her hands into the air and stomped over to the bedroom, launching herself onto the downy comforter.

"We can't go home," Emily followed after her, hovering at the foot of her bed, her voice horror stricken at the idea of taking leave. "Angela invited us for tea tomorrow, we can't just ignore that, it would be like spitting in her face."

"I know," Rory moaned, her voice slightly stifled as she pulled a pillow over her head. "Which is why I said I want to go home. Want. I didn't propose that we leave; I was merely expressing a desire. I didn't say 'Lets go home'. I said 'I want to go home'. Mind the syntax."

"You don't have to get smart," Emily harrumphed, turning away from her horizontal charge and casting an askance look from under an arched brow. Awkward, heavy, pregnant silence reigned as Emily slipped into her own bed, situating herself against the headboard as she meticulously lotioned her hands. Her drawn lips twitched unbecomingly as her eyes were pulled to the prone form of her granddaughter. A loud 'tsk'. "Well, I'm sorry," the insincere and painful apology bluntly wrenched its way out of her stiff lips. "I didn't think things would go so badly," she grudgingly explained, an expression very near to a pout darkening her face. "I suppose I'd forgotten what a frosty witch that Angela could be."

"Grandma," Rory exclaimed as she peeked over her shoulder, supporting her weight on her left elbow. "You're vicious."

"Well, she is," Emily grumpily responded, though her expression softened as she noted that Rory had removed her down and linen headdress and was actually looking in her directions without a glare. "I was honestly trying to help you, Rory. Having the Petrelli family in your corner would be very, very beneficial to you. Your grandfather and I see that, even if you and your mother don't."

Rory extracted herself from the sinfully comfortable bed with a sigh, traversing the gap between the two beds with three loping steps. "You shouldn't have done it," she lightly reprimanded as she sat Indian style at the foot of the bed, plucking at the duvet beneath her. "It's my life, grandma. If I'm going to be with Peter…if," she emphasized upon seeing the other woman's eyes light up, "I said if, well then I'd like it to be because we actually like each other, not because my grandparents consider it a fortuitous match. I'm not Dunya, Peter's certainly no Luzhin and this isn't 1800's St. Petersburg."

"Fine, you've made your point," Emily fairly spat, petulantly crossing her arms across her chest in so fair an estimation of an unhappy child that Rory couldn't fight a quiet chuckle. Taking this as a good sign, Emily returned a small smile and allowed her hands to drift down to rest on her tented knees. "Well," she extended, "what do we do now?"

"You did lure me here under the pretenses of a shopping trip," Rory smiled widely, ignoring her grandmother's wounded sniff, "and so far I only have one new outfit, not exactly whirlwind."

"Angela would never forgive you for daring to wear the same outfit back to back," Emily smirked. "I say we wake up early, grab some food…"

"Ooo, room service!" Rory interrupted excitedly, fairly bouncing on her bum.

Emily laughed, whole-heartedly agreeing with the girl's suggestion. "And then we're off, not to return without shopping bags groaning with plunder."

"I hope all those eager sales assistants are getting a good nights rest," Rory grinned, flopping back into her own bed. "I think I'll be feeling quite demanding tomorrow."

"As is only right," Emily nodded with a chuckle. "Good night, Rory."

"Night grandma," she snuggled into the blankets, allowing the soothing warmth from both the bed and the reconciliation with her grandmother to lull her off to sleep. She had nearly achieved that blissful state when her eyes opened with a sudden jolt, realizing that following that lovely morning she would be once again face to face with the intimidating Angela Petrelli, on her home turf yet. She turned onto her back with a groan, dragging her eyes to the ceiling and wondering if it was too late to take Peter up on his offer to transport her to Paris.

* * *

"Are you sure I look okay?" Rory asked anxiously as she and her grandmother stood before the door to the imposing Petrelli home the following afternoon, having more than fulfilled their earlier threat to paint the town green with cash dropped on clothes, shoes and accessories, as made evident by the bulging bags left in the care of the unfortunate chauffer.

"For the hundredth time, you look beautiful," Emily assured the young woman while giving the doorbell a short even push. The visitors could hear the distant chimes, delicate and soft, followed by the sound of sprightly steps. Moment's later Rory's heart leapt from the safety of her ribs as a figure, distorted by the glass and wrought iron of the door, stepped into view. The door pulled inward, revealing a slender, dark haired woman with an easy smile and bright blue eyes startlingly similar to her own.

"You must be the Gilmore's," the woman smiled pleasantly, deep dimples standing out as she did so. "I'm Heidi, Nathan's wife. It's wonderful to finally meet you, I've heard so much."

Rory returned the smile happily, much of her unease evaporating at the sincere welcome. "Peter's told me a lot about you too. Good things," she quickly amended.

"I wouldn't expect anything else from Peter," Heidi returned, her smile brightening considerably at the mention of the boy she cherished as her own blood.

A ringing "Welcome" from within the home engaged the attention of all three women, drawing it to the staircase. "Welcome to our home," Angela stepped briskly down the gracefully curved staircase. "Please, please come in. I'm certain Heidi wasn't being intentionally rude by keeping you at the door step like traveling salesmen," she smirked primly with a significantly displeased look that froze the smile on the younger Mrs. Petrelli's face. "Please forgive her, she's from Maryland," she added in explanation, drawing Emily alongside her. "Come, tea is served out in the garden, a lovely little spot."

The younger women held back, Rory casting uneasy glances at Heidi as she took deep, calming breaths. Suddenly remembering the teenager, Heidi laughed and gently shook her head. "Nathan and I have been married for four years," she lead Rory through the house, following the older women, "but she makes it seem like forty." Seeing that her words seemed to heighten the girl's apprehension, obvious as Rory anxiously worried her bottom lip, Heidi placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "She really isn't that bad. She's just…uniquely Angela. All we can do is thank God that she's one of a kind."

Rory smiled hesitantly as Heidi talked, too busy taking in the opulent surroundings to pay much attention. Trying to reconcile the beautiful setting with the boy she had known and cared for was difficult. While dating the rough-edged, seemingly street savvy Jess one of her favorite past times had been to imagine his life pre-Stars Hollow; where the mysterious boy had been raised, how he had grown, his background, his story. It had been exciting, her vivid and fruitful mind eagerly filling in gaps and careful omissions. Spiral staircases and foyers, vaulted ceilings and chandeliers hadn't exactly played into those fantasies. _'Material things like this shouldn't matter_,' she silently scolded herself as they stepped through the French doors, greeted by the heady perfume of the creeping jasmine and rows of blooming rose bushes.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Angela asked from her position at the head of the elegantly appointed table, complete with a gorgeous looking spread, as Rory absorbed her surroundings with clear admiration.

"It's wonderful," Rory answered genuinely, tearing her eyes away from the brilliantly verdant colors and soothingly wind swept fluttering all around her. "An oasis."

Angela's eyes briefly narrowed at the girl's words, through the look quickly retreated back into her more commonly used mask of polite disdain. "You see an oasis," she commented, passing Rory a plate of petit fours. "So did my husband. That's what he called this place. Gardening was one of his many eccentricities. Needless to say the quality of the up keep has severely diminished since his passing."

Emily dropped her head in sympathy and she would have placed a comforting hand on the bony wrist of the Petrelli matriarch if Angela, correcting perceiving her intention, hadn't busied her hands by pouring a cup of steaming ginger tea. "Enough about the Petrelli's," she announced dismissively, "tell me more about you, Rory. You can't possibly be as perfect as your grandmother insists."

"She is," Emily raised her chin stubbornly. "Even more so."

"Grandma," Rory flushed violently. "I'm…so far from perfect," she explained awkwardly, waving the words away with her right hand.

"I hear you're quite the academic," Angela mused, lips poised at the edge of the delicate Viennese teacup. "Is that much true?"

"Well, I suppose so," Rory conceded, not quite catching the predatory gleam in the older woman's eye. "Saying that I like to read is definitely an understatement. I have many very determined, almost lofty, goals and dreams for my life and I know that taking my education seriously will only make those dreams more attainable. Especially if I want to attend Harvard, which I've kind of planned on doing since I could walk."

"Ivy league aspirations," Angela remarked evenly, lowering her cup to its saucer with a delicate clink, "and such an admirable sentiment. Refreshing in a young woman."

"Thank you," the relieved teen responded, appreciating the encouraging smile shot her way by Heidi as well as the small squeeze under the table courtesy of her grandmother.

"It does make one wonder, however," Angela continued almost offhandedly, fingering a nearby tray of cucumber sandwiches.

"Wonder what, Angela?" Heidi inquired with mild suspicion, a sense of dread stirring in the pit of her stomach. She may not have been gifted with foresight but she certainly recognized that tone well enough to know that it never bade well.

"I wonder what exactly you see in my son," Angela clarified, not bother to smother the harsh bite to her words. "He's handsome, to be sure, that goes without saying, but a smart girl like you wouldn't be swayed by looks, would she? No, no of course not. It's no secret that he doesn't share your sense of academic responsibility, he's as far from the top of the class as is possible, I'm afraid. So what is it that draws you to him?"

Rory's lingering blush turned impossibly crimson under the scrutiny of the three adults. "Well," she busied her nervous fingers with her drained and wasted tea bag, "a lot of things."

"Oh," Angela replied, not even attempting to temper the mocking smile that insisted upon playing about her lips.

"Peter has a lot of great qualities, Mrs. Petrelli," Rory swore, "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Mmm," Angela purred ominously, "you're right of course; many excellent qualities. He's supernaturally powerful, comes from a wealthy and influential family, two members of which happen to be Harvard alumni. Surely a girl of your admitted aspirations couldn't fail to realize that."

Rory stared aghast at the older woman, cringing under that knowing, imperious stare. "Mrs. Petrelli if you're implying that I…"

"I'm not implying anything, Miss Gilmore," Angela delicately patted at her mouth with the freshly laundered linen napkin, laying it neatly on the table before settling her gaze back on the girl at her right. "I'm asking out right. You're not the first young woman to chase after one of my boys," she cast a none to subtle glance at her long suffering daughter-in-law, "so I'm certainly well versed in exactly what girls such as yourself see in boys like my Peter."

'_Because I first knew him as Jess…_' Rory looked down at the white knuckles of the desperately clasped hands in her lap, taking a moment to steady her uneven breath before daring to meet the level, piercing glare of the dark eyed woman. "Peter's the only boy I've ever known who gets all my literary and pop culture references, and believe me I make a lot. The only one who has ever been willing to rig a snowman-building contest just so I could win. The only person caring enough to fix a stranger's broken gnome but still have the humility to be embarrassed for getting caught doing a good deed. Maybe…maybe you ask me what I like about Peter because you can't see how truly and utterly amazing he really is."

"Is that so?" Angela replied with a dangerously hard voice, rearing her head back in a motion that was too good an imitation of a python preparing to lunge for Rory not to gulp loudly.

Emily smirked at the obviously riled Angela. "Wonderful tea, Angela," she complimented cheekily, sipping quietly as she watched her friend discreetly fume.

Seeing that Emily had provided a momentary distraction, Heidi quickly announced that she had forgotten a tray of goodies in the kitchen and suggested that a grateful Rory accompany her. The moment the two young women were out of earshot Heidi let out a delighted trill of laughter. "That was excellent," she congratulated Rory, leading her to the well-appointed kitchen. "I didn't get that look from Angela until I had been dating Nathan for months."

"You mean the one that clearly displayed her desire to kill me?" Rory asked incredulously, accepting a chilled water bottle and perching on a barstool at Heidi's invitation.

"She was a little put out, phrased mildly," Heidi shrugged cheerfully, "but it was mixed in with grudging respect."

"I didn't quite catch that, but then again I was blinded with terror," Rory chuckled nervously before looking around at the empty counters. "I thought you forgot something."

"Oh, right," Heidi jumped up and leisurely walked over to the cold oven, pulling out a tray of fruit tarts. "Ta da. I always 'forget' something, it provides for a convenient exit."

"Very good thinking," Rory nodded approvingly, taking a strawberry laden dessert with a moan of pleasure.

"You know why she was so hard on you, right?" Heidi asked, her hand hovering over the tray as she chose her own treat.

"Because I'm a filthy harlot who wants to steal her little boy?" she thickly suggested between bites.

"No," Heidi answered confidently, bright eyes flashing. "Because you can. All of Peter's other girlfriends have been silly twits and Angela knew they would never interest him for any significant amount of time. She liked that. But you," her dimples deepened, "you're different. Special. Angela sees it and it terrifies her. And by the way," she dropped her voice conspiratorially, "Peter's talked to me about you and trust me when I say he thinks you're every bit as wonderful as you consider him to be."

Rory glowed under Heidi's reassuring praise. "Really?" she asked hopefully, a part of her registering how silly it was for the words to bring her so much joy but a bigger, more vital, more intrinsic part decided that she didn't care.

Before Heidi could respond a loud slam vibrated through the house. "Mom!" an eager voice called loudly. "Mom!"

"Why don't you go ask him yourself?" Heidi winked, nodding toward the front room. "I'll make your excuses."

Rory gave the older girl a quick squeeze, whispering "Thanks for everything" before dashing off to see the boy she had missed from the moment he left her weeks prior. He was still calling out for his family when she turned into the foyer. It should have been a beautifully romantic moment, full of Disney quality cheese. All the elements were there; a breathless Rory bursting onto the scene, cheeks rosy and doe-like eyes sparkling up at Peter as he stood midway up the staircase, torso twisted to see to whom the clattering footsteps belonged. It all made for a charming picture, if only Rory hadn't decided to burst out into side splitting, decidedly indelicate guffaws.

"Okay," Peter deadpanned resignedly; the look of delighted surprise that had blossomed over his face upon first sight of the unexpected girl abruptly disappeared as he realized just what was causing her outburst. He thumped heavily down the steps, letting his messenger bag slide from his shoulder. "C'mon, lets have it. Let it all out."

"My mom is gonna kill me for not bringing a camera," Rory snorted, hands clasped to her mouth in an attempt to smother the unruly chortles. "She'll never believe it. Your hair…it's so…neat and tidy, all parted to the side."

"I like to think it makes me look like a mobster, thanks," Peter scowled defensively, a hand involuntarily jumping up to pat at the hairstyle he absolutely loathed.

"More like a little boy," she cackled, taking even more pleasure from the obvious discomfort he felt at having the last vestiges of his bad boy image ripped away.

"Mean girl," he shook his head, refusing to let himself see the humor in the situation just yet. "I'll have you know the stupid school makes me wear it like this."

"The jacket too?" She giggled, the violence of her laugh attack beginning to give way as the shock of seeing Jess' uniform of band tee's and rude graphic designs replaced by an actual uniform ridiculously similar to those worn by her male Chilton classmates. "You do realize you're wearing a crested blazer? And that your pants have a pleat?" Her grin widened as she saw his veneer of offended pride beginning to crack enough that his mouth quirked in the beginnings of a smile.

He shook his head, moving down the last few steps still separating the pair. "You know you only perpetuate Mr. Franklin's unfair stereotype when you act so cruelly, lady Pot."

"I am not being a hypocrite," Rory maintained, feeling her face suddenly enflamed as Peter drew dangerously close. "I've never tried to hide who I am, plaid skirts, sweater vests and all. You're the one who masqueraded around town in a leather jacket and those t-shirts with your crazy hair."

"You liked my crazy hair," he reminded her suggestively, taking her hand in his and running his thumb over her knuckles with the tiniest bit of an electrical jolt, just enough to make her pulse jump and draw a gasp.

"I know," she returned breathily, moving her free hand up to tousle the too neat locks while making a mental note to apologize to Emily for ever doubting that coming to New York was a good idea.

"Hi," he almost whispered, claiming her other hand as well and using them both to press her against him.

"Hi," she greeted happily, allowing herself to be pulled in, raising her face expectantly for what was sure to follow.

"Hi," a third, unwelcome, voice joined in as thin limbs twined themselves around Peter's neck. He grunted as his niece launched herself onto his back, her momentum forcing the teens to crash together in a less than pleasurable meeting of chin and forehead. Rory warily pulled away to see a grinning, impish face surrounded by a mass of curling blonde hair resting sweetly on Peter's shoulder.

"Claire…" Peter warned testily, cricking his neck to the side as he fairly ground his teeth. "What are you doing?"

"Just saying hi," she answered innocently, tightening her hold on Peter's neck as she eyed the other girl with unveiled curiosity. "Who's this?"

"Can't exactly talk with you crushing my windpipe," he flashed an apologetic wince at Rory when he had finally pried the surprisingly strong girl off of his back before turning to the intruder. "Tell me Nathan didn't put you up to this."

A noncommittal shrug was the only response he received, Claire chose instead to turn to spindly limbed girl she didn't know. "I don't think we've met, I'm Claire Petrelli."

"Actually, we kind of have," Rory smiled, accepting the girl's firm handshake. "I'm Rory, we talked on the phone last week."

"_You're_ Rory?" she asked, running a calculating gaze over her body in a move eerily reminiscent of Angela. "You know, my grandmother says it's terribly brazen for a young lady to call a boy."

"Have I told you lately how much of a pain you are?" Peter took Claire by her shoulders, trying to steer her toward the stairs. "Get out of here, will ya?"

"Peter, stop, its okay," Rory pushed him back with a gentle shove against his chest, turning instead to the highly offended girl. "You know Claire, my grandmother and I have been doing a lot of shopping lately. I found this," she dug into her pocket and held up a necklace with a fine silver chain, noting how the girl's eyes lit up as the tinkling charms shone in the light, "and I thought you might like it."

Claire looked up at the kind smile of the older girl, searching her open face for any sign of duplicity. "A bribe?" she asked suspiciously.

Rory's smile never faltered. "Well, you are the daughter of a politician," she reasoned.

Shock at the gentle tease quickly developed into a genuine peal of laughter as the pre-teen took the trinket into the palm of her hand. "I like her," she told Peter, effectively giving her blessing before running off to have her mother fasten on her new necklace. She stopped in the doorway, looking back at the two chuckling teens. Focusing on Rory, she grinned and said "You can go ahead and kiss him now."

"Not until I get some jewelry too," Peter feigned solemnity as Rory tucked an arm around his waist.

"Maybe later," she joked, leaning into the warmth of his body. "Can we get out of here?" she asked quietly. "Today's been a little…overwhelming."

"Sure," he agreed, knowing without asking exactly _who_ had been the source of the day's grief. "Are you hungry?"

"Always."

"Ah, I forgot who I'm speaking to. C'mon, I know a place."

"Not your mother's type of place?" she asked hopefully as they walked through the front door.

"God no," he laughed at her exaggerated grimace before wrapping both of his arms around her and instructing her to "Hold on tight."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously, receiving her answer when Peter took to the skies with a grin, clearly enjoying her desperate shrieks.

"Oh my god," she cried, clinging to the climbing boy without a thought to propriety. "What…are we…?"

"Flying," he answered, face beaming with the pleasure of wind raking through his hair, tugging at his limbs.

"I can't believe it," she panted, not yet sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She reluctantly pried her eyes open, digging her fingernails into Peter's back as she saw him swoop around the corner of a high rise. "Oh god, Peter, don't do that!"

"Relax," he instructed her, "look around. You'll never see a view like this from a limo, Ror."

Gulping heavily, she compromised by peeking out from one eye. "Oh wow…" she quietly exclaimed as she finally got a look at what was being offered to her. The warm light of the afternoon sun set thousands of windows dancing and winking happily at the passing couple, the only sound was the rushing wind in their ears, protected from the cool air by each other's embrace. No Angela or Emily. No confused attempts to reconcile Peter and Jess. Just…them.

All too soon Peter was landing in a copse of trees thick enough to sufficiently camouflage their descent. "People are pretty used to us, you know, being who we are," he explained as they wandered out of the brush and into a small park, "but landing in the middle of an open space surrounded by strangers will still earn you some strange looks."

"That was the most amazing experience, Peter," she earnestly thanked him as he led her to a nearby vendor. "I don't know how you kept yourself from doing that for six whole months. Wish I could fly."

He handed her a heavily dressed hot dog and snuck an arm around her shoulders as they walked down a paved walkway. "I wouldn't change anything about you," he whispered into her ear, successfully sending a shudder throughout her body. "Besides," he dropped to a grassy spot under a tree, motioning her to join him, "if you knew how to fly I wouldn't have any excuse to hold you like that."

She smiled sheepishly at his undisguised flirting, bumping their knees together in reprimand. "Stop," she demanded half hearted, "eat your hot dog."

"Yes ma'am," he ducked his head, taking a wolfish bite while his eyes continued to twinkle mischievously.

"This is more like it," she nodded happily, taking a whiff of her cholesterol laden dinner. "This is more along the lines of how I pictured you."

"Eating a hot dog?" he asked, confused.

"Well, yeah," she shrugged, "in a park, relaxed, sitting in dirt. Not holed up in some palatial estate. Being at your house and knowing that it was _your_ house was just…strange."

"That's because the whole Petrelli insanity, it isn't my world. It's my parents world, my brother's world, and I'm sure Claire will fit in just fine, but it isn't me," he tugged at the lapels of his uniform, "_this_ isn't me."

"I'm glad," she leaned over to dab at a dollop of ketchup at the corner of his mouth with her crumpled napkin, "because it isn't me either. You know," she smirked wickedly as she looked him over, "I think I get why you and my mom didn't get along. You're too much alike."

"Wow, comparing me to your mother. This is amazing for my ego."

"I'm serious," she nudged his shoulder excitedly, her eyes blazing with the light of discovery. "You both grew up in wealthy settings but never really fit in, raised by parents who had certain expectations you didn't want to fulfill. This is insane, you're not pregnant are you?"

"I'm not listening to this," he pouted, stuffing his food into his scowling face while Rory howled at his misfortune.

They sat in companionable silence as they continued eating, watching joggers and children at play. Done with his devil dog, Peter leaned back onto his elbows and entertained Rory with stories about Nathan bringing him to the park to practice flying as a child and how at 10 years old he found a wallet under a bench and took three different trains in order to get the object back to its owner.

"When I got home I was in so much trouble," he shook his head at the memory, remembering the look of outrage on his mother's face. "I don't think I spent another day at the park that whole summer."

"Well no wonder," Rory looked at him in amazement, holding her chin in her hands as she slowly shook her head. "They probably thought you were dead or kidnapped."

He laughed sadly. "I think that's what my dad said." He frowned and distractedly plucked at the grass. "I don't think I've told you…"

"I know," she hurriedly interjected, curling her smaller hand around his busy fingers. "I mean, I don't know everything but your brother told us back at Luke's. I'm so sorry J-Peter. My dad and I don't have the greatest relationship but if something happened to him…I'm sorry."

He threw himself onto his back with a sigh, folding his hands behind his head and squinting up through the thick canopy of leaves. "It really sucks, losing someone like that. I miss him," he swallowed heavily, blinking away unbidden tears, "but what's really, really hard is how many regrets I have. We didn't get along, fought all the time. Just too different, you know?" He looked up at her, silently begging her to understand. "After he died I kept thinking 'What if I had just given a little more?' What if I had been less stubborn, more open to his point of view. What if…" he laughed humorlessly. "The most painful phrase in the English language."

Sometimes grief doesn't require words, empty platitudes fall flat when confronted with a pain that goes on and on. So she didn't say anything. Instead she leaned over and kissed him; sweet, gentle comforting. A silent way to say "I'm here, I'm with you, you're not alone".

"Thanks," he murmured after she pulled away, running a hand through her loose hair and appreciating the fact that the red rim around her eyes wasn't for his father. "So now what? Do you want to go back and hang out with my mom some more?"

"Umm…" her eyes went wide as she tried to figure out a way to delicately extract herself from any future play dates with Angela Petrelli before a rumbling underneath her cheek alerted her to the fact that Peter was laughing. She sat up with a start, throwing her crumpled ball of trash at his head. "You jerk!"

"Hey, your mom banned me from your fridge, remember?"

"Yeah, well, you deserved it," she stood and dusted the bits of grass from her new outfit. Looking down at the still seated boy, soppy grin plastered across his face, crazy hair sticking up in all directions, she found herself ready to forgive his mother for, well, being herself, because like it or not he wouldn't have been there without her.

Jess had come into her world and upset just about everything; for good and for bad. He had changed her life, challenged her and prompted her to grow up in new and exciting ways. For a time she had a sense of danger in her life, a bite of the forbidden fruit. He had been a thrilling addition to her otherwise staid life, and when _this_ boy had taken Jess away, claimed that he had never existed, it had hurt. The stinging betrayal had kept her away from him for weeks. Now, as that same boy swept her through the air she found that she couldn't feel the aching loneliness left when even the memory of her relationship with Jess had been wrenched away from her. She snuggled into the hard chest that was her only protection from a long and painful descent. She didn't need to mourn Jess any longer, she realized, because he had been Peter all along.

* * *

Well, that's all folks. I'm not sure what people were expecting from the ending, but I hope this is satisfying. They're together…for now. ::shrugs:: Not all high school romances end up in long term relationships. I have my own idea of what their future holds. I actually have an idea for an epilogue of sorts but I don't know, maybe you guys want to make up your own ending for them. At any rate I'm happy with it. Thanks again for sticking with me…its been fun!


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